


However Long Ago The World Ended...

by SupaNova_CasaNova



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Dark wins AU, De-Aged Harry Potter, Gen, Grey Harry, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Harry can be a little sarcastic, Harry is smarter, He spends nearly 100 words contemplating sandcastles, Hogwarts is a mother hen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Innocent Harry, Light loses, M/M, Maybe...I'll Try To Make Them Long-ish, Multi, My First Fanfic, Possessive Tom Riddle, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Protective Tom Riddle, Short Chapters, Tagging is hard when you're winging the plot, Tom is very scholarly, Tom/Voldemort loves his irony, Yeah...This will be trash, Younger Harry, but not sappy trash!, but that will probs be after chapter 10, definitely an academic, he really is too naive in the beginning, maybe? I'll remove the tag later on if it doesn't happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-06-23 08:25:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 27,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15602319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupaNova_CasaNova/pseuds/SupaNova_CasaNova
Summary: Nothing ever changes, nothing except him. The ancient halls, he can almost hear the footsteps and laughter of students from years passed walking through them.However long ago that time was...He wouldn't know, that was a past he was trying to piece together. Why has he been alone all his life and raised by an empty castle that looks like a war hit it? Why does the castle seem to be in a stasis while he continues to grow? Why do all the newspapers talk of a Dark Lord? And who is the man, the first man, to enter his unchanging world of questions and seems to hold all the answers?





	1. A Certain Place at an Uncertain Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, first fic. Got a light bulb moment 7 hours ago and here we are 3 chapters later! Give me any constructive criticism please and no flames. I will try to make long chapters but this being my first story they will be prone to be short. Its also kinda the tone to the story, just short, thoughtful snippets. BTW, the main character, you all know who he is, he wont be referred to by name for a few chapters for plot reasons that will be explained in later chapters. Any who! Thank you and Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet our main character and he discovers something a tad alarming...or should I say, he distressingly fails to do so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, first fic. Got a light bulb moment 7 hours ago and here we are 3 chapters later! Give me any constructive criticism please and no flames. I will try to make long chapters but this being my first story they will be prone to be short. Its also kinda the tone to the story, just short, thoughtful snippets. BTW, the main character, you all know who he is, he wont be referred to by name for a few chapters for plot reasons that will be explained in later chapters. Any who! Thank you and Enjoy!

**Silence.**

 

That was the loudest noise he’s ever heard.

 

The large halls of ancient stone, the castle, his parent - _friend, carer, companion_ -, echoed the silence in every brick of its being. Walking – _pacing, running, chasing_ -, through these corridors his whole life, he had memorised every crevice as he imagines one would have memorised the face of their mother _–father, friend, sibling, lover_ -.

 

At first life was sweet, if a tad bitter, he had never known more- still doesn’t quite. His earliest memories were of staircases moving him towards his desired destination, floating silverware topped with food zooming to and from his laughing mouth, sparks of all colours lighting up the daunting darkness in a light show worthy of a standing ovation. He was never lost, never quite alone. The castle was quite literally everything to him; looking after him and caring so dearly, guiding him, teaching him, healing him, entertaining him.

 

There was so much to see; the books that floated to him, eager to be read and understood; the rooms filled with abandoned messes of tables, **more books** , papers, black board sketches, notes of conversations passed, some rooms more filled than others…

 

Even away from the castle, he was cared for. He was sure to never fall over a root and be scratched in the thickets; they more aside and left the grass and softest of leaves to caress and reassure him in his venture. When ever he looked over his shoulder across the grounds, he saw it, the castle, there and waiting. Like a parent, reassuringly always there, always watching and waiting in case it was needed.

 

He’d walked **every** hall, explored **every** room, read **every** book, flew on **every** broom, slept in **every** bed.

 

Yes, when he was younger, it was enough. But now he was older. Piece by piece he put an explanation together. The castle could only provide so much. Despite his cries on many nights and his pacing of a certain corridor, it couldn’t say; for all it was, and wonderful as it is, his one companion is still a castle. It had tried, it gave him books and papers and objects of all sorts to help him find the answers he needed. When that didn’t bare enough fruit it tried to distract and side track him. Most attempts were met with a repentant, yet thankful grimace.

 

The thing was, the castle was empty, physically. The frames on the walls hint at depictions of another time. The messes of spilled ink-pots and ruined beds spoke of hurried exits. The scarring of the castle still too deep for itself to mend spoke of a trauma beyond his comprehension, and apparent living memory. The books were far more useful though.

 

As he said before, he has read every book. He knows of what once was, or, at least, what must have been. He knows where he must be: Hogwarts. He knows of magic and wizards, witches, society, culture, people, stories. But when? How late was he in joining this wonderful world of human connection? Why is he not a part of it? Where did it go? **_Why is it not here?!_**

 

So, he researched. **Every** historic text, **every** birth record, **every** important event- until he found it. He needed to know when it all ended. So, he looked at when every book was published. Every, last one. So devoted and obsessed with his pursuit for an explanation and closure was he, that Hogwarts had to step in a few times and force him to rest and care for his needs. However, as soon as he could he was back to searching. When he found what he was looking for, he was over-joyed! A newspaper, filed -or rather shoved- in amongst the others in the library’s collection, held the date of **_first of May, 1999!_**

 

Rushing up the staircases to the seventh floor, he was aided in his flight by the speedy changes of the staircases, preemptively organising themselves in a path to his destination. Once he reached his desired corridor, he paced, desperately hoping to convey his excitement at finding it finally and his terror at what answers this may yield. But, overall he held the need for his question to be answered in his mind: what was the year!?

 

The doors soon revealed themselves and he rushed inside. Within he was met with innumerable clocks, calendars, watches, newspapers. None gave the answer he so absolutely desired.

 

There he was left. Fallen to his knees at the evidence of his friend’s desperation to give him this one wish and heal him of this agony. Nevertheless, it wasn’t Hogwarts’ fault, he knew that. If it could it would give him a book, like this room, which could give him every answer to all of his questions, it would have in any one of his heartbeats. With a grateful and understanding smile- _if a little shattered_ -, he got up and exited the room.

 

The halls once again, never had been quite so depressing. He could **almost** hear the taps of hundreds of feet, racing to class with their friends. He could **almost** hear the voices, laughter, yelling, calling of the children to each other in their conversations, so whimsical, and holding both none and all the meaning in the world at once.

 

The paintings never had been quite so bare. Some canvases blank and without scenery or object, others with knocked chairs, trampled grass or a complete scene of hurried escape and no thought otherwise. Looking past the once intriguing art, he looked through a window. The sky was a juxtaposition blue, to both him and the state of all under it. The grounds hadn’t escaped the wrath of whatever onslaught met the castle however long a-

 

So back to that thought it was, ‘however long ago…’


	2. Several Clues and No Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Undeterred, he looks over his findings in search of his long sought after answers. What he finds is a very concerning pattern of corruption and death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow! I'm so glad that people are liking this so far. I just read the reviews 2 seconds ago the good feedback motivated me to post another chapter. I feel kinda bad now though...this chapter is less plotty and more fillerish. It mainly showcases his new perspective on the past and how much smarter he is. (He did read the whole Hogwarts library after all- Hermione would be proud) I don't know how often I'll post but good and constructive feedback is quite rewarding and provides great incentive to write more! So please leave a review, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Again, he looked his ordering over, looking for fault or flaw and recognising none. On the floor before him, he had laid across the expanse of the room, every newspaper Hogwarts and he could find in the castle and grounds. Little by little, he narrowed down the amount they had to those dated from the 1920’s on-wards; those seemed the most relevant- and concerning…

 

From what he could see there was a pattern in events, these patterns appeared in similar orders at three consecutive times over the last **_however many years_**. It would start with political conflict or unrest. The first instance occurring through international relations and activity in Germany causing disturbing news to reach Britain. The second pattern began with more radical moves and decisions in noble, pure-blood and political circles, leading to laws and legislation being implemented against certain groups, such as creatures or less than half-blooded wizards and witches. The third instance was the quickest to escalate of the three and the most violent. It honestly scared him. Unlike the other two instances in which the build-up began politically to create its power and then became destructive, the third began with murder and missing persons, and followed with more gruesome, more terrifying and more numerous accounts.

 

But all three lead to death. Political figures would unfortunately need to be replaced for whatever misfortune befalls them or their family. Supporters of certain groups would suddenly do something completely insane or radical, like go on a killing spree in the streets or kill their own families. They all seemed to end well enough though. The first ‘Dark Lord’, Gellert Grindelwald, he was confronted by the Light Lord Albus Dumbledore who then duelled him and won in 1945. As a result, Grindelwald was imprisoned in his own constructed confinement, Nurmenguard, while Albus became the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!

 

Who would have thought that the very room he had ventured through, eaten odd sweet lollies in and played dress up with a torn-in-half-witch-hat would have once been the place that powerful wizard once resided!

 

The second was far more intriguing, however! The second and scarier Dark Lord, _ **Voldemort**_ , or, _ **He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named**_ , went to attack a small wizarding family, in their home at Godric's Hollow on Halloween, 1981: the Potters. Now, this story was odd for quite a few reasons; why was Voldemort coming to kill these three _personally_? Why did the Potters live in a house in Godric's Hollow rather than in one of the numerous and sizeable Potter estates? Most importantly in his mind, why was this attack Voldemort’s ‘demise’?

 

The Potters, despite being particularly large contributors to the Order of The Pheonix organisation and active members, hadn’t done anything of note for almost more than a year at that time. They had, in fact, disappeared from papers, not attending battles or raids or any movement of the kind. This could be placed under the assumption that this time was taken to lie low during the birth and first few months of their newborn son’s life. This doesn’t, however, explain the Dark Lords obvious and sudden priority in killing every member of the family. It also doesn’t explain the location the Potters held at the time of death. There were numerous manors and townhouses in the family’s possession, have been for hundreds of years and all contain considerably better foundations forwarding than the cottage in that village should. This led him to believe that the family somehow knew of the Dark Lord’s priority to kill them and opted to hide rather than to rely on their wards against the strength of the Dark Lord. But that still left so many questions of how they knew he would come after them.

 

Then there was their son, Harry Potter- _it oddly rings a bell_ …How did he repel the Death Curse? He certainly didn’t combat it, that much was absolute. Yes, he had read the many, **_many_** , books proclaiming and praising the power of the babe. But he wasn’t to be fooled, he had read the whole of the Hogwarts library for Merlin sake! He was well learned in the capabilities of magic and had read of even the most extraordinary feats. But it was one of the few laws magic had, like Gamp’s Law, you can’t deflect death, no matter what form it comes for you in, spell, age, whatever your cup of tea! Therefore, this **_child_ ** had to have had second-hand help, a sacrifice- _and wasn’t that morbid for a child to receive?_ \- or for the Dark Lord to uncharacteristically to turn his wand on himself, even more uncharacteristic than attacking such a low profile family personally. Any of these possibilities with Harry Potter somehow getting a cut to the forehead in the rally.

 

Intriguing isn’t the _half_ of it!

 

But then there was the last. If one wasn’t so keenly looking as he was they would have missed it. But ten years later, with the return of **_‘The Saviour’_** to the wizarding world, began a series of incidences with ambiguous details and recollections of events.

 

First, the break-in at Gringott’s, the sudden and mysterious death of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Quirinus Quirrell, the destruction of the Philosopher’s Stone and the following death of Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel.

 

Second, the ‘opening of the Chamber of Secrets’, the petrification of a cat, a ghost and four students, the imminent closing of the school- _this was what he initially believed to be the cause for Hogwarts’ empty halls-_ , the kidnapping of Ginevra Weasley and her rescue by Harry Potter, the blaming of all this on a Diary that possessed her.

 

Third, the escape of one of the Dark Lord’s biggest supporters, who had betrayed the Potters and murdered twelve people, muggles, with the exception of Peter Pettigrew, the break-in of Sirius Black into Hogwarts along with Dementor implementation which interfered with Harry Potter’s quidditch _\- how sad…-_.

 

Fourth, the attack on the Quidditch cup involving fires, torture and mocking of muggles, Death Eaters and the casting of the Dark Mark, all of which lead to political uproar and confusion- _doesn’t that sound familiar?_ -, following was the Triwizard Tournament involving international relations which worsened due to the unexplained admission of one Harry Potter. Following was much propaganda and media slandering several figures. More interestingly was the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins, a ministry worker. Then, later on, came something even **_more so_**. The Saviour disappeared upon touching the Triwizard cup along with the other Hogwarts competitor, Cedric Diggory. Upon returning to the grounds via the same cup port-key, Harry Potter began regaling his tale of the Dark Lord’s resurrection in hysteria. All the while clutching the dead body of Cedric Diggory. It was then that he was dragged off by Alastor Moody. Said former Auror was later found to be impersonated by Barty Crouch Jr, dark side supporter, murderer and supposed-to-be-buried-at-Azkaban-convict. As a result of a Veritaserum induced trial, several details as to how this came to be were uncovered along with the recent murder of another Ministry official, Barty Crouch Senior.

 

Things here begin to look much the same as the others, the next year uncovers the truth of Voldemort’s return, the increase in creature restrictions and the answer to two of his questions: Why were the Potters hiding and why did Voldemort see it fit to personally kill the Potters? A prophecy of Harry Potter bringing about his downfall…

 

To nicely sum the next to year would be Order of the Phoenix returning once again, the rise of dark forces, propaganda and power, Dumbledore’s death and the persecution of various light supporters, including Harry Potter as the number one ‘Undesirable’.

 

From there it all stops. Something happened either on the first or second of May 1999. The school was now empty and had been his whole life. All eleven- _twelve?-_ years of it. It truly is his most desperate wish, to see, to know someone tangibly there and alive and human. Even an animal would be nice…The forest is unnaturally empty, eerily quiet, same with the dormitories and the owlery. Not a mouse to scurry or a cat to chase or an owl to swoop down upon it.

 

At that moment as he continued to stare down at the papers, stuck in his own ponderings, a breeze brushed over the treetops of the **_no-longer-Forbidden-Forest_** , and through his hair, pulling his eyes from the floor and to the window. A thought then occurred that he can’t say hasn’t occurred before.

 

_Are his answers beyond Hogwarts?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry for making you read through all that, especially soince you probs knew all that already...Or maybe not. I've read fanfics about fandoms that i haven't even heard of, then i go and watch/read the original. I know, I'm pretty backwards, but thats how i got into Gravity Falls and Merlin. Maybe I'll write a fic about one of those? Thoughts?
> 
> P.S. I just realised I've made him seem really cynical and sarcastic, that's probs my on personality coming out too much, i'll sweeten it up a bit more...


	3. Actions of Here to Thoughts of There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He contemplates the grounds as he completes menial tasks to his isolated existence. His past and the past of Hogwarts is both remembered and queried. But the question remains, 'What must he do to find an explanation for all this?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...I felt bad so here's the next chapter... I'm writing chapter 5 as we speak so I might release chapter 4 now as well? I don't want to spoil you guys now and leave you craving while I write the next chapters...But the end of chapter 4 is a bit of a cliff hanger so that could be entertaining...(Sadistic side makes an appearance)

Nothing ever changes, nothing except him.

 

This was his line of thought as he worked in the smashed and half-demolished greenhouses. This area neither escaped the barrage that befell the great castle; more windows were smashed than were whole, the troughs holding soil and plants were mostly collapsed, leaving dirt and greenery to spread across the floor. The soil was still fertile though, and with no elves, or whoever manned- _elfed?-_ the kitchens, he was left to fend for himself. For the first few years, Hogwarts was able to salvage something for him from the wreckage and stores, but there wasn’t much it could do in the way of fresh vegetables and fruit, Gamp’s Law and all…

 

Regrettably, this lack of fresh foods had an effect, but he soon came to combat it and remedy as soon as he read of it. He hoped that he would gain the few inches he has missed in his years of malnutrition. From what he’d found in photos and texts, he was only _slightly- and don’t tell him otherwise_ \- off in stature, he could and would catch up!

 

But that wasn’t the main route of his thoughts. It was the state of everything around him. Everything was always in a state of half ruin, the grounds had craters but the grass had recovered from whatever had smashed and scorched it, the castle walls were battered and surrounded by fallen and crumbling pillars, same with a few stairways inside. But from the looks of them they have stopped smoking, they must have at one stage based on the scorches. Sure, the seasons changed and the weather could get rainy or snowy, but nothing else of his scenery diverted from the status quo. No animals came, the grass didn’t grow, trees didn’t fall, the castle didn’t fall into any more or less disarray than he caused it to!

 

But still he grew, he learned and he thought and changed and began to wonder if that all that existed was in the same state or if _this was_ all that existed!? He wanted to know, he always wanted to know more. But Hogwarts couldn’t give him anymore answers…

 

Collecting what was ready and giving the others one last once-over before leaving, he climbed to steps of the castle and headed down to the kitchens.

 

As though it knew what his thoughts were the breeze in the castle was gentle yet harried and whipping around him in a panic, like a mother waving her hands over her son in distress and worry. Of course, Hogwarts didn’t want him to leave. He was the last child left within its walls, how he got here was another unanswered matter. Hogwarts would obviously feel more attached to him than any other, more so now than ever. He had been the focus of the castle’s existence for the last _however many years…_

 

It was sad and a guilt-inducing sight and feeling. How could he abandon his one companion and the one to care for him since he was a babe? It was selfish. Never, not once had the castle turned- _figuratively_ –from him. Nor had it shown him any negativity, only encouragement and care.

 

Setting the apples and watermelon he had harvested onto the table, he brought out a bucket and left to the well he had erected by the greenhouse to fetch clean water from. He would use magic to summon water into the bucket or _scourgify_ the food clean, but he was without a wand sadly. He was unable to visit this _Ollivander’s_ or _Gregorovitch_ for a wand. Sure, there were many lost wands that Hogwarts eagerly supplied, but none welcomed his touch all too enthusiastically… It was, perhaps, the saddest he’d ever seen the castle. The fact that it’s one purpose was to be a place for children to learn magic and it had now lost that capability too, it was truly heartbreaking. He didn’t let that deter him though! He knew of wandless magic and immediately pursued it. He wouldn’t let the castle suffer this pain of purposelessness, he would give it something to be proud of- Him! But for now, that venture was slow-going and yielding few results of note, so until then he would do things the ‘ _muggle_ ’ way.

 

He was then just lowering the bucket into the well when he felt the wind enter a frenzy, as though not sure whether to be ecstatic or terrified. The implications of what must have happened to bring out such a reaction from Hogwarts reflected a similar outburst in him. Forgetting the bucket in the well, he dropped to rope and bolted as fast as he could- _which was quite fast_ –into the castle and up several flights of stairs, until he was peeking over a fourth-floor window.

 

His eyes, perfectly focused, immediately caught the Hogwarts Gate as it creaked open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm winging this whole plot so as we progress i may get writer's block as to where the story should lead. I have a vague idea of the tone i want it to take and the character development, but I'm not sure how to steer the plot there... So this story will have to be a joint effort! You review and give suggestions for where the story should lead and I'll take them into consideration! If I include them or think they're just especially great I'll give you a should out and list you as a co-author for that chapter! Sound cool? Sweet! Get reviewing everyone!
> 
> I'll try to post regularly, but i do have school and I do work on weekends. So it really comes down to how well i can procrastinate...


	4. A Change Of Perspective To Play Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort seems to have had claimed victory at the Final Battle and reaped his rewards in revenge. But will this revenge be long-lived?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really just pumping these out tonight, aren't I? Dis better be appreciated, peoples. Not really, I'm just bored and have plenty of homework to procrastinate...History, Maths B, English, UGH. School is gross...

 

It was curious.

 

He had left him to stagnate, to remain forevermore as a replacement for what was destroyed. A penance if you will; eternally repaying for what was now lost. His _Horcruxes._

It wasn’t a delightful existence, no. But it wasn't meant to be. He wanted him to suffer, as he should for what he did and almost achieved. He wouldn’t know how his Horcruxes felt since their creation- _and now he never would_ –but he imagined that it was something like this; stasis, maddening and eternal nothingness. After all, that is what a Horcrux is and is to do: never change and always remain.

 

Therefore, that was what he made of him. After the Battle of Hogwarts- _if you could have called such meaningless destruction of his true home that –_ he took the boy’s body back to the graveyard where he first **truly** encountered him in. It was there that he performed the ritual, transferring the boy’s spirit, accompanied by his own fractal of a soul, into his object of choice: A Glass Globe, much like the ones prophecies are stored in. Ironic, he knew, but it seemed only fitting considering their history together and the boy’s significance to him- _Though he also found a sort of poetic **justice** in it, too. _And alongside that, he preserved Harry Potter’s now empty body. It was in a state much like that of a victim of the Dementor’s Kiss. He really didn’t need it, the boy wouldn’t be using it again, but he _did so like his trophies…_  

 

That was how it was supposed to stay; him victorious and powerful, being kept invincible by his one true threat, who was stuck in eternal limbo. But then he **wasn’t.**

 

He felt it minutely at first, the stirring of a conscience- of magic. He thought and theorised, but realised that there had to have been some sort of stimuli for such an event to occur. Consciousness doesn’t just manifest! And certainly not one being purposely suppressed… He ruled out external, physical interaction. The orb was kept on the mantle of his fireplace, within the confines of his office; no one would dare enter there without his express permission.

 

So that left independent manifestation or magical interference. His wards stopped most if not all external magic residue and fluctuation from disrupting his quarters and any sensitive objects inside. But perhaps his own magical displays and experiments could have been sufficient stimuli? For all the control he had on his wandless casting, without a wand to focus and project it to a point, magic still had a tendency to come into contact more than the indicated area. Perhaps an errant wisp of his magic touched the globe in a summons for a book from a nearby shelf?  This had to be the case, any other person or the boy creating a conscience of his own initiative was just too unlikely and unexplainable!

 

Nevertheless, it was there and had been for a few months now, as he’s studied it. If Voldemort were a muggle- _not_ _that he enjoyed that thought in the slightest_ –he would like to think he would have been a man of science. Not one of those sanctimonious preachers whose beliefs border on some convoluted form of sentient magic, fate and karma. He would like to believe that he would have been much like he is now, intelligent, powerful and constantly finding how the world works and how to harness it. It would only be fitting as he was much the same with magic; a scholar for such studies and an addict for such thrilling pursuits and discoveries.

 

But back to the issue at hand- or rather _in_ it. The orb he spoke of lied in his palm as he contemplated it. Mist- or was it smoke? –flowed inside it, obscuring its contents of a soul and its accompanying shard. He doubts the grey cloudy matter itself was the boy’s soul, he was far to _light_ to have anything but the brightest my sickening light soul possible. It would have been so bright that it would have given any who look at it cancer, on top of the retinal damage…

 

With that amusing thought, Voldemort prodded the orb once again with a wisp of his magic. It remained unresponsive, like the numerous times before. However, it wasn’t the unresponsiveness of an inanimate or non-sentient object, it was as if the layer of magic covering the orb was trying to avoid his. Wherever he prodded, a gap would form in the coating and would reform as soon as his tendril receded. It obviously was not the most intelligent of magic, but he would admit that it was smarter than many people he knew, many wouldn’t even realise this object exuded magic in the slightest!

 

The magic itself wasn’t that of the boy’s, he knew that much. But it still felt familiar, and not unpleasantly so…

 

He would need to investigate this further. Perhaps magical isolation, from wizards and objects may help him determine the cause for its activity?

 

Getting up from his winged chair behind his desk, Voldemort strode off to the lower floors. Down several flights of stairs and hallways, Voldemort ensured the orb was tucked securely and discreetly in his robes. He wouldn’t have someone discover his Horcrux this time around, follower or not!

 

Reaching the dungeons, Voldemort headed towards the section of sensory deprivation cells, made specifically to torture witches and wizards with the apparent feeling of having lost their magic, along with other senses. Quite the effective method, but the issues were that they would remain unaffected by any outside activity while inside the cell. Not being able to have them screaming in agony could be a little frustrating for some of his more…radical followers (read: _Bella_ )…

 

Opening an empty cell, Voldemort conjured a pedestal and set the orb to float just above it. He then placed sensory and surveillance charms around the room to allow him to observe with orb’s activity without compromising it. He was just closing the door to the cell when something inside the orb caught his eye, the smoke cleared slightly, to show the outline of a smoking castle ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review if you have any suggestions for the plot. Or anything in general, e.g. comments, questions, feedback, requests for other fandom/pairing fics. Really, I'm just bored out of my mind and love to read your comments. OH, and I don't have a Beta, so if you find a mistake just flip me a review and I'll fix it, cheers.


	5. Big Words Attempt to Define Small Realities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort discovers a few more of the orbs inner workings and let's his magic geek-iness come out. He really is a huge nerd- but a magic one!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've now exhausted my stash of pre-typed chapters.

_Hogwarts…?_ That wasn’t entirely expected…

 

He knew he wasn’t mistaken. Those tower tops had been the image of salvation for seven years of his life- he would recognise them anywhere. But why would they appear inside his Horcrux's container? There was nothing in the room for the orb to reflect such an image, so it must be from within the sphere…

 

Stepping back into the room, Voldemort closed the door behind him with one brief, surreptitious scan of the hallway outside. He didn’t want whatever was happening to be heard or seen- just in case. With the door securely shut and locked, Voldemort warily approached the pedestal, all the while observing the image within the wispy depths. Once he was about one foot from where the sphere rested he cautiously stretched his hand out and plucked it from the air- careful not to jostle it, for fear that the image would disperse.

 

He looked more closely and recognised this was a similar view to the what one would have if they were to be in the boats with the first years arriving at the castle. You could see straight up to the top of the Astronomy Tower, a classroom scattered with-

 

The image disintegrated into smoke, but before he could feel alarmed or prod further into what changed, another image replaced the previous, this one detailing the same room he had just been recalling from his schooling days. The Astronomy Classroom looking the exact same as it had always done, save for a few details; the room was far dustier, a few more diagrams and constellation charts were scattered across the walls and ceiling, and one child-like Harry Potter, who was sitting on the balcony stargazing!

 

How, the bloody-hell, did he end up in there? Actually, that probably wasn’t the right question to ask. Rather, how did he metaphysically manifest inside a virtual version of the present Hogwarts?

 

 _ **"Help is always given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”**_ The words floated through his mind like a memory, but one he never possessed. It was the old fool unmistakably, spouting his hypocritical philosophy. But perhaps there was some merit to this particular statement…?

 

There were certainly many flaws to it being the sole explanation to this spontaneous occurrence, as Potter is not at Hogwarts currently, nor should he have had the state of mind- _or matter, or existence in general_ –to ask or think anything! There had to be another piece of information he was missing…

 

 

 

A few hours later found the Dark Lord sitting in his office once again holding the orb and staring deeply into it with an analytical and scrutinizing gaze. He had a theory, the orb seemed to act like a looking glass. Much like one used by seers or the Winter Warlock, The Snow Queen, Oracles, etc. Using one's thoughts and magic, one could manipulate the image in the orb to show wherever or whomever they wanted. The exception with this ball, however, being that it only showed the version that existed within the ball.

 

If it hadn’t been unintended- _never mind **unwanted**_ –Voldemort would have given himself a pat on the back for the sheer magnitude of his magic and skill in being able to create a whole reality within an object. _A figurative pat on the back, of course, anything literal would have been terribly plebeian- too muggle…_ His next question to be posed was _Could he manipulate this reality?_ More specifically to destroy it but leaving his Horcrux exempt from the destruction. But then again…whose to say the reality doesn’t manifest? Why not utilise this power and make the reality an eternity of hell for Potter? **_A very tempting notion indeed…_**

****

Thoughts of vengeance aside, the effects of such re-manifestation in the boy were _intriguing_ from an academic point of view. It had only been a little more than a year, yet the boy seemed to be somewhere around eight-years-old. Assuming he didn’t just regress to that specific age, that would mean that in the span of six months or so, eight years have passed within the virtual reality! Fascinating! Was it the smaller containment of the boy’s existence that caused it to accelerate? Will he continue to age into his **death**? Will he die of old age somehow? Would that bring an end his consciousness permanently? Or will it manifest again? Has he retained his memories or is he essentially a new person? Is the reality tied to his consciousness? Will it dissolve with the absence of its inhabitant? If he were to take the boy’s soul out of the orb and into a new body, would he continue to age at this rate or would it acclimatise? Would it stop? Is this an alternate route to **_immortality_**?

 

Who knew the boy would hold his attention in such a way, even after defeat?

 

 

 

 

Despite having won the war and essentially holding the title of dictator of Britain- _soon to be Europe_ –Voldemort still had responsibilities that he couldn’t delegate- for lack of competent enough underlings. So, once again, the Dark Lord found himself working at his desk. A task now made difficult by the temptation found in the glass sphere being used as a paperweight to his left. That that it did much, it was too light. The only thing it seemed to weigh upon was his mind.

 

Admitting defeat- _but not to Potter_ –he picked up the ball and summoned forth the image of young Harry Potter tending to a makeshift fruit and vegetable patch in what used to be Greenhouse One. Does he have magic within that reality? He isn’t using it…he’s doing all the work manually. Perhaps he is too young to harness it without a wand? How average.

 

Yet looking at the child, there were many questions that he would like answered- questions only the boy could answer. Perhaps it was time he made contact? This would surely be an amusing side project…

 

Looking more distantly at the globe, however, he the Dark Lord realised that his look may not be so appropriate for such confrontation…Or any now that he had won the war. He didn’t exactly need all of the bodily alterations and the intimidating looks. A more human appeal would possibly help public relations. He wouldn’t want mutiny or rebellions on the home front while he was out conquering the rest of the world. He needs the public to be in favour of him.

 

And who better to charm the masses than the charming and disgustingly weak _Tom Riddle **Junior**_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was really hard to reach that word count. I feel like I rambled quite a bit...I also didnt really like how I had to end that. I've read alot of fics where Voldemort will miraculousl become pretty little Tom Riddle again willingly because he feels insecure with his snake looks, he wanted his old looks back for the sake of being handsome or just other silly and out of character things. I recognise that Voldemort never cared for his looks unless they were im his favour. Other than that they disgusted him as hey were a testament to his father. So i don't like that I made Voldemort choose to change his looks back but I did it so that he still viewed it as regaining a tool he needed rather than his snake looks that had served their purpose. Doing that just left a bad taste in my mouth despite trying to keep him in character. But to be honest it was necessary, not many people want to read a gen/romance fic about and boy and a snake hybrd dude...


	6. Two People, Many Questions, Few Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort, now re-donning the face of Tom Riddle, has entered the virtual reality and attempts to answer some of his scholarly queries; his mind keeps returning the Potter though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially I was going to leave it at five chapters until next week, but I was inspired by FandomstuckGeek's comment! So here is another chapter!

_It certainly wasn’t lacking in detail,_ looking upon the Hogwarts of his creation. Although this shouldn’t come as a surprise, it is and always will be the place of his happiest memories _…and some of his worst._ If anything, the castle seemed to be in more focus than any of its surroundings; sharper edges, crisper lines, a starker contrast of shadows.

 

Although, the most apparent difference was the absolute **_saturation_** of magic _covering everything._ Hogwarts was already a magical place in the real world, but this was far beyond it. The magic was so thick it almost held a tangible presence, a consciousness. Could this be an indication as to how Potter’s consciousness reawakened? Can the orb absorb and store outside magic, converting it into its own and create this? You would think him being the creator of the damned object would give him more insight into its capabilities and behavioural habits…

 

But back to reality- _pun intended_ –he stood the Hogsmeade as of current, taking this time to investigate the construction and reactions of the world. As he said before, everything seemed to be composed as a good deal of magic and not much else. Being contained in a crystal ball didn’t give it much matter to work with when creating, as far as he was aware, the whole world. That brought the next question: where were the boundaries of this little dimension?

 

Deciding promptly to measure this, Voldemort turned and walked to the far outskirts of Hogsmeade. There he climbed to the top of a hill to a cave filled with the bones of vermin and birds. The altitude wasn’t comparable to that of the Astronomy Tower at all, but at least he knew that the whole castle must, therefore, be tangible, at any height. This experiment had also taught him that the edges of this reality must extend beyond Hogsmeade, too. It was surprising that he didn’t notice the drain on his magic more! Unless the orb had some sort of magic efficient method of fabricating all this. Or perhaps there was a second source for the orb’s magic? Maybe even multiple! He would need to reattempt the sensory deprivation variable again later on…If this visit didn’t yield the results he needed, that is.

 

Traversing the rocky slope back to the battered and smouldering village, Voldemort had the vantage point to more thoroughly survey the damage before him. Everything, including the village and the castle looks exactly as it did right after the battle- minus the dead bodies, but that was a minor detail. This gave him more theories to consider; maybe everything appeared this way as it was the boy’s last memory of the world around him? Perhaps the reality mimicked whatever was in the real world at the time of its creation- meaning this process started immediately after he completed the ritual. Or maybe this was the way with every inanimate Horcrux, he couldn’t- **_and wouldn’t ever be_** –sure as he discarded his Horcrux as soon as he could; they were too much of a liability to have with him. But that thinking was somewhat redundant now that he thinks it.

 

The amount of questions he has, variables he doesn’t know of and can’t control, information on this new branch of magic he doesn’t _possess_ \- **frustrated** him to no end! He needed it like air. He needs to know more and to manipulate it to its full potential! He could adapt this in so many ways to his wizarding world if only he could _understand_ it!

 

It all came back to the one thing though; the boy. The issues concerning him just never seemed to end! His little friends had run off mid-battle to Merlin-knows-where, since then they have been attempting to find more Horcruxes. They are deluded yes, and he allows them to be so as it is to his advantage. They thought that the reason they couldn’t kill him after he had the boy was due to them having missed a Horcrux. They weren’t wrong, they failed to make the connection between Potter and everything concerning that wonderful little scar he had. However, that was about as much as they were correct on, they believed, supposedly, that one of his followers must have been entrusted with his last Horcrux and were frequently bombarding various strong-holds with their pitiful remnants of a resistance. _Like he would make the same mistake twice,_ was a thought accompanied by Lucius Malfoy’s beaten form and the _remains_ of his diary, which was found in the drawer of Dumbledore’s desk.

 

Deciding to finally confront the bane- _and fascination_ –of his existence, Voldemort took the opportunity to test apparition by apparating to the wrought iron gates of **_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._** Appearing with a muted pop out of habit, the thought occurred that he just ran the risk of severely splinching himself, inside a secret, unknown reality in which he was unsure if death reached. He wouldn’t have died but to become a husk or spirit again would have been a major inconvenience, especially if trapped here. He wasn’t sure how virtual realities handled the magical decomposition and reconstruction of the matter! But then, he never was his most rational when it came to thoughts of Harry Potter.

 

Looking upon the school now though, alone and in some solemn, post-apocalyptic tranquillity, the anger faded. Looking upon Hogwarts now, as just Tom Riddle after some fifty years or so, it was like any other September first. It was like returning **_home_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make this a little longer but I really couldn't help myself. You've got to end a chapter with something important and I really wanted to highlight how Hogwarts brings out some of Voldemort's lighter, more innocent emotion, like Harry or any other child holds about their nostalgic memories. Also, did anyone notice that Voldemort's feelings towards Harry epitomise the statement that, 'Loathing borders on loving.' and 'Passion is passion, whether its lust, hatred or something in between.'?
> 
> P.S. I know I should get back to Harry's perspective, but I LOVE to write Tom's perspective...I like to keep it even though as well...


	7. A Game of Hide and Seek But With Two Seekers of Different Kinds-Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two favourite characters finally, not quite, don't yet meet. But Harry does admit that Tom is handsome!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, 552 words, I know it's short! Crucify me! The title is probably the longest thing about this chapter.

_His eyes, perfectly focused, immediately caught the Hogwarts Gate as it creaked open._

_~_

This could be either the greatest or the **worst-** _and last_ -day of his life.

 

This concept whirled around his mind, causing and summarising the chaos ensuing inside his head.

 

Who was this man that walked so confidently toward his home- as if he too had walked that path many times before? Was he his _saviour_? Or the one to finally take away what little existed in this castle: Him? Both thoughts terrified him to a degree, one _minutely more_ than the other. But he so very much wanted to believe this person had come to free him. Not that he was trapped or anything, one the contrary, he could go anywhere he wished in the grounds, perhaps the world if he had the gal to leave Hogwarts. It occurred to him, somewhere in the mess of fear, intrigue and jubilation, that the situation was likened to a princess locked in a castle, watching a prince gallop forward to save her. He was by no means feminine! But the similarities of the situations were there.

 

Heroics and fantasies aside, would this person have answers? Where did they come from? Are there more people out there? Are there witches and wizards still, too? Was this man a wizard? Or was he a poor, mistaken muggle that had stumbled upon these castle ruins years after its true glory?

 

During his frantic thoughts and speculations, the man had reached the steps of the castle and was slowly making his way up them, as though he were savouring the moment…? That can’t be…the man looked young enough to be only a few years out of school! If he were to have visited before, shouldn’t he have seen this man? Unless he came, before Harry was born, the man could fair well have been twice his age. Taking a closer look at his features, he noticed the man was quite handsome, classic looks- aristocratic to down to the way his locks held a regal curl. Tall, the stranger would definitely tower of him, and dark looks, dark brown hair, dark, eyes too, though he couldn’t distinguish the colour from the fourth-floor vantage point. However, this wasn’t what was most striking about him; he was familiar. He had seen that face somewhere before…Maybe in the student records?

 

The Student Records! If this man was listed in those files, the end of Hogwarts and whatever caused the end of everything else must have been very recent! He could narrow down the years if this man was in there. Better yet, save him the work and speculation, if this man cooperated, he could learn about everything! When, why, how?!

 

And, on top of that,…he might have some company now? He’d read many novels of marvellous adventures, shared with those one confides themselves to. He’d read tales of brothers facing death, of four powerful friends achieving their dreams in building a school for all, of a boy redefining magic and defending his brother in all but blood as he rebuilds a kingdom, of four friends, pranking, scheming and become legends within their own rights in their school. He wasn’t sure how to go about doing it, but he wanted it. Could this man be something special to him and possibly vice versa…?

 

This could very well be the **_greatest_ ** day of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry, so lonely. Also in case you don't remember, Harry is twelve (for now), making Tom appear to be in his early to mid twenties. Also, I think we can all agree that Harry is a little princess and Tom is his Prince Charming.


	8. A Game of Hide and Seek But With Two Seekers of Different Kinds-Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's idea of friendship flies out the window and he hides in the deep in the castle. The parallels between this and the Graveyard scene are awesome. 'He knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason: He was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort’s feet,'-Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The document I drafted this chapter on in word had 666 words in total when finished. It made me indescribably happy.

The man had entered the castle now and Harry watched as the man seemed to take in the Entrance Hall. Crouched down and peeking between the banisters, he tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible until he could determine the intruder’s motives.

 

The man seemed in no rush nor did he seem to have any pretence of keeping his presence unknown. Perhaps he wanted him to come out? Maybe he was simply unaware that the castle still had one last inhabitant? Either reason, the main was systematically casting his cold and searching gaze over the banisters and staircases stretching-out above him. His demeanour was not at all inviting and gave him the impression that he should back away and find a secure place to hide.

 

So that’s exactly what he did.

 

Shuffling as quietly and discreetly as possible to the corner on the banister, he cautiously moved away and towards the corridor leading to a secret passage to the second floor's female bathroom. It was the most secure room he knew of, aside from the Room of Requirement. However, he couldn’t reach that room without using the stairs, and that would put him in full view of the stranger.

 

Once he reached the bathroom, he hissed the command to open and slid down the slippery slide into the pit of bones. Since his discovery of this chamber, he had cleaned out the tubes. It was too much hassle to have to clean off all the slime each time went down. Running down the passages to the antechamber, he hissed another phrase and ducked inside as soon as the gap was wide enough for his small form. The Chamber was flooded as ever, the basilisk corpse fresh as well. He surmised that the slow aging of the creating and volatility of its venom gave the snakes body a decelerated decomposition. But it could also be the way nothing at Hogwarts changes. His favourite theory though was a little more beautiful; he’d read that a sleeping basilisk won’t age, so perhaps she won’t ever decompose in her eternal sleep? Whatever the reason, he was grateful; it wouldn’t have been nearly as fun to play and explore down here if there was a rotting fifty-foot snake, producing a smell of acidic decay. The basilisk itself was one of his favourite things to play on: balancing and walking along its back, the path gradually getting thinner as he moved towards the end of the tale, a place to sit and relax, or a place to sit and study the gleaming green-black scales of its perfectly preserved body. _A little morbid, he knew, but it wasn’t like there was anyone here to tell him otherwise- Hogwarts didn’t seem to have an issue._

Climbing up and sitting in the little bridge on the crown of its head, he traced the scales with his fingertips. Come to think of it, coming down here probably wasn’t the best idea…Sure, it was secure; not many people knowing parseltongue- _even less with the number of people left in the world supposedly_ –but now he wouldn’t know when **_or if_** the stranger left! There were no windows to look out and watch to see if the man left the castle and there were no doors to peek out of. He was left at a severe disadvantage. Perhaps he should have taken a secret passage to the Room of Requirement? If he attempted to leave now to check if he was gone or retreat to a better hiding place he risked being spotted- either as the chamber opened or as he moved through the castle. The chamber opening wasn’t exactly discreet and he had no idea where the stranger was no in the castle!

 

The sound of grinding stone met his ears and echoed throughout the cavernous chamber.

 

Well, he no longer needs to wonder where the man **_was_** …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny thing I've noticed, My first sentence has had more truth in it than I though it would. Has anyone else noticed that not one character has said a word yet in the story? That's going to change quite a bit next chapter though.


	9. One Uninformed, The Other Not Informing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom has feelings deep, DEEP inside, but they don't apply in his conversation with Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Longest chapter yet! I think? Its about 2,200 and something words so its quite the accomplishment! Any who, enjoy!

It seemed the boy, for whatever reason, wasn’t going to approach him.

 

As soon as he walked onto the grounds he felt him. That was one question answered then, the boy’s soul hadn’t diminished in its containment, only its embodiment has regressed. The boy’s magical presence was still potent as ever, possibly even more so in this more confined environment.

He could both feel and see him looking through the fourth-floor window. His stare was curious and not the slightest bit of anger could be felt in his magic. But there was _fear._ That was a comfort at least. The boy never showed enough of it in their previous encounters; it felt good to be getting the reaction he deserved. Feeling sufficiently smug, Voldemort strode out of the shade of the tall pine trees and into the late morning sunlight. As he walked he surveyed the grounds. They were a mess, signs of repair were evident in some places, the Game Keeper’s hut for one looked like a gymnasium of obstacles for a child to play amongst; all towers of fallen bricks and wooden planks to balance on, run between, duck under and jump over. _Or perhaps it was his improvisation of training…?_ The greenhouses too seemed to have been given some mediocre reparations and use. The already sloped lawn too, leading from the hut up to the castle was now _riddled- pun most certainly **not** intended, there were many reasons he hated his old name - _with craters, looking every bit like the world war two war zone that was described to the children of his orphanage. However, stones from various buildings, such as Hagrid’s shack, the Castle and surrounding structures had been placed in what seemed like stair formations where it became too high for a young child to traverse. The only thing truly the same seemed to be the Black Lake. Still glistening and still, it was surrounding by juvenile sand constructions: sand castles. Some looked like poor imitations of Hogwarts while others seemed more like a fortress. A few even gave him a couple ideas. _That is one big mote…_ But the biggest question here was, _why was he still making sand castles? Surely children his age stop making those far earlier…_ He knew he was never like other children but he could have sworn that such activities stopped at six at most. T _hey couldn’t have been made years ago, they would have been washed away…_

After this having this thought, it occurred to him how _moronic_ it was that he spent so long musing over a **_sandcastle_** and promptly moved his thoughts and eyes onto other aspects of the grounds.

 

All thoughts fell away though as he began to walk up the steps to the Entrance Hall. The feeling of walking through that- _however slightly demolished_ –doorway was déjà vu, nostalgia, victory and something bittersweet all rolled into a few steps. The contrast in how he arrived, left and has returned was monumental and for the first time in _however long_ , he felt like he had really achieved something significant, become significant. Could Hogwarts feel that? Did it know how far he had come in accomplishing the dreams he held and nursed within these walls? Was it proud?

 

He hoped so; Hogwarts was the closest thing he could have had to a parent- if it was _it animate_ -and the only thing he would seek gratification from if he could. As though to contradict his thoughts and answer his yearnings, the magic stirred and embraced him. It felt warm, like butterbeer down his throat; all-encompassing like the magic he encountered upon entering this reality; tentative and delicate, like it no longer knew quite how to hold him. This thought was both gratifying and disturbing to him, deeply so. Yes! He had indeed changed, he was no longer one in the same as the weak Tom Riddle Jr. but a successful Dark Lord and unofficial dictator. The thought that Hogwarts could feel this was one of the most liberating feelings. But the hesitancy gave rise to an odd feeling he couldn’t say with any surety that he had felt often: hurt, betrayal. The closest he has ever felt to feeling this way would have been a few years after he was reduced to a spirit; when he realised that his followers were indeed leaving him for dead. Though, at the time, the feeling was vastly overshadowed by the eruptive rage that consumed his incorporeal being. This, however, was the reproachfulness of something he held in high regard, fondness and familiarity, no matter how much he and it changed. To be approached with uncertainty and hesitancy from such a valued piece of him was heart-wrenching.

 

But then he remembered that this wasn’t the real Hogwarts. Or was it? The words from the old man were brought to mind again…

 

Shaking off both the negative emotions and the magic encasing him, he pressed on further into the Entrance Hall rather than lurking in the half-collapsed doorway. Focusing back on the object of interest, he made a show of scanning the floors above to let the little spy know that he was looking for him and knew he was here. _Perhaps that would entice him out?_ Seemingly not. The boy’s magical presence flared in panic and slowly faded- _though not by much considering its potency_ –as he crept deeper into the castle. _It would seem the boy was or has become more Slytherin than he thought._ Or maybe his soul was having some kind of effect? Has that always been so? Or has it only begun now that they are both in undiluted spectral form?

 

Waiting to see where the boy is headed, he is surprised that the boy’s choice of hiding place was Slytherin’s Chamber. Could this be an indication that he doesn’t remember anything and no longer holds bias? If he doesn’t remember he also wouldn’t know who Tom Riddle was and would therefore not know that I could access such areas of the castle. **_This could be interesting…_**

****

Ascending the stairs to the second floor, he took his time to follow the boy. It wasn’t like he would get away- _like he had so many times before_ –What the boy failed to realise was that he was retreating straight into a dead end. As much as he respected and admired snakes, retreating into a hole in the ground with just one entrance and exit wasn’t the smartest move for such cunning creatures.

 

Upon reaching the carelessly left open entrance- _not as Slytherin as he thought_ –Voldemort opted to request for stairs in an imperious hiss rather than make the mistake he made the first time h entered the chamber; he remembered how disgusting and slimy that tunnel was…

 

Avoiding the mounds of bones piled around the exit of the stairway, he lightly walked toward the antechamber. He had the element of surprise here and it was in no way disadvantageous to keep it. Oddly enough, walking these halls made him feel like a sixteen-year-old Hogwarts student more than anything else. He was subconsciously expecting to feel the stirring of the Basilisk within Salazar’s statue as it similarly anticipated his approach. But it never came, he knew the basilisk had been killed six years ago, it just wouldn’t feel true until he saw its corpse with his own eyes. In his mind, he was the only one aware of its existence, inside the chamber everything inside was a secret unknown to the rest of the world. The fact that the chamber and the basilisk’s existence had been released to the media after its defeat was a foreign reality to him.

 

But he need not be held under any such delusions anymore as the antechamber doors way to the scene of a child Harry Potter, light icon, curled atop the basilisk corpse and staring at him with **_Avada Kedavra-_** green eyes. Aside from his identity, the image looked oddly right, something that should have happened, with an heir and a living basilisk. But like the basilisk that possibility was dead. His eyes locked with Potter’s and he tried to decipher the emotions lying there.

 

There was definitely fear, which didn’t fail to bring forth a touch of smugness to his thoughts, there was also a naïve curiosity and hopeful hesitancy.

 

That’s another answered at least: The boy does not remember him. But does that extend to everything or is it purely limited to him alone?

 

The possibility of imminent conflict averted, Voldemort diverted to plan B, in the scenario that he doesn’t seem to remember him he would question him to learn as much as he could. Perhaps he could manipulate the boy into a supporter? Then sic him onto his once allies…No, that wouldn’t do, too many risks; he could be captured- _harmed, killed, **Horcrux destroyed**_ -. He could play with him but he couldn’t have anyone else make contact. Not to mention, being the boys only source of social interaction would breed trust and attachment; much easier to exploit…

 

_Time to turn on the old charm…_

Tilting his head slightly to the side, Tom prepares to make a curious remark and introduce himself when he is interrupted by the sudden interjection of the child before him.

 

“W-who are y-you?” came the hesitantly shaky questions from the boy’s lips.

Unexpected, but fine. He readjusted his strategy for the boy’s slightly more forward and inquisitive approach.

“ _I_ am Tom Marvolo Riddle, post-graduate of this school,” Tom answered in a gentler version of his Head-Boy-voice, “and who might you be, Little one?”

 

He added the endearment as more of an afterthought but it was no less true; the boy was quite small in comparison to the beast upon which he lied. Perhaps affection will play up to the boy’s obvious social deprivation?

  

“I’m …uh…,” came the eloquent reply to his simple question, “…not sure?”

 

The way his answer sounded like a question made him want to question the boy as to whether he was sure he wasn’t certain. It’s what he would have done with any other inferior child, but that would be all to productive to his cause. Considering the boy believes he was raised here since birth he most likely won’t recall ever having human interaction. It’s a miracle he even knows how to speak! Unless that was inherently remembered from the previous reality? Moving on from the rabbit hole of speculation, the boy won’t recall having a name, being raised by a semi-conscious castle that can’t speak.

 

With this newfound deduction, he eased the boy’s nerves at being asked such a question. “Do you not have a name?” This was met with a minute and hesitant shake of the head.

 

If he indeed doesn’t even know his name and can so easily be in such close proximity to myself and the Basilisk then he really must have reverted to something of a blank slate soul! **_How convenient…_**

****

“That’s fine, Little one, no need to be nervous” he comforted, seeing the child was getting more and more anxious at his contemplative silences, “I’m merely here to see you. When I learnt that someone was here of all places, I knew I had to find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could.”

 

“Mm-me?” the boy bit his lip and looked slightly more worried and definitely quite confused.

 

Perhaps he should backpedal a bit, seeming too eager might send off some long dormant ‘stranger danger’ bells in his head.

 

“Ah, well, yes,” he said with a sympathetic and indulgent smile, “You see, I’m not quite from here- no one is. But surely you guessed that at the lack of people…here?”

 

He made his voice a tad bit more unsure the closer to the end of the sentence he got, with a slightly pitying and confused expression to match.

 

“It’s a bit complicated. It really doesn’t surprise me that you don’t know,” he placated, “but I’m sure you must have been lonely all this time…”

 

The boy’s face, previously the picture of anxious confusion changed to wistful reflection with that slight change of topic. He needed to get the boy to volunteer more information; this feels too much like an interrogation for the child to be comfortable with speaking to him.

 

“I’m sure you would like some company,” Tom offered discreetly, “I know you only just met me, Little one, but if you’re willing, I’d like to ensure you never have to feel that loneliness again.”

 

The line sat heavy and sickly sweet on his tongue. He couldn’t say it was completely false, he certainly didn’t crave the brat’s company, but rather, the answers and knowledge he presented. With that said, he extended his hand up to the child atop the great serpent and awaited the child’s inevitable acceptance of his companionship.

 

Unlike most naïve children who would jump into his arms at the word, Potter stared at his hand for a second before carefully sliding down the side of the serpent. Raising his considerably smaller hand ever so slowly, green eyes met blue and searched for any ill intent. However, being a magically untrained child and him a pioneer of the mind arts, there was never a chance that the boy would find a reason not to trust. With that, Potter placed his hand within the palm of Tom’s and nodded, before dropping his eyes to his feet.

 

_All his paperwork would never get done with such a distraction to keep him out of that reality. He would need to employ a secretary…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need a secretary too...so much homework. Tomorrow is a PD day for teachers though at my school so I get the day off. I can do it then. But this will probably be the last chapter I post this week. I doubt I'll have time to write and post one tomorrow...Anyway, leave feedback! I'm terrible at dialogue and relationship development so feedback would be fabulous! Also comment any other fandoms and/or ships you would like me to write and I'll see what I can cook up! Thank you guys, love you all!


	10. The Bonding Of The Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Harry bond over pretentious vocabularies and forgotten altercations. Tom also begins to differentiate between the boy his doings brought before him and the man he defeated in The Battle of Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist. I'm addicted to writing this story. Its just as fun as reading one to be honest. I did try to do my math homework! but we are revising the Quadratic formula and that stuff is hard when you are just given a hypothetical situation! So I've resigned to never getting it done...Enjoy my concession of defeat!

_The boy was different- different from what he used to be._

That much was certain as the boy meekly offered what he knew about his home. Where he once would have been more excitable- _not that his magic wasn’t at someone else’s presence_ –he was now reserved. However, much could be said on the fact that the boy hadn’t yet released his hand throughout their exit of the chamber in order to vacate to the courtyard. Now, they sat on a bench beneath the swaying shade of a willow tree. Still unable to meet his eyes for long, the child watched his unoccupied hand trace the carvings of past students in the bench.

 

“…a-and the forest t-too. I’v-ve been in it a l-lot and all the c-creatures are g-g-gone.” He nervously stuttered out, voice losing even more confidence at the end to be replaced by something wobbly and lonely. Honestly, if Tom had the opportunity when he was younger to grow up with the castle and grounds completely to himself, he wouldn’t have given the company a second thought; isolation here would have been a great deal better than width-standing with those _muggles._

 

“B-but I d-did find a lot of interesting st-tuff in there!” the boy suddenly piped up, sitting up straighter and looking up at him with eagerness, “One looked like an acromantula nest! It was demolished like the rest of the grounds but there was still a lot of webs and cocoons. I think someone killed them on purpose though, there were scorch marks all over the trees, definitely from a spell! Then there was this clearing with all the trees knocked over and some miles away looked like they had been thrown! There were all these ropes around the trees too. It looked like something had been tied **_huge_** had been tied there! Like really! The whole forest is filled with secrets! Sam as the castle; I’ve found all these secret passages and a magical room, and a map with everything in it, and-,”

 

Stutter forgotten in his childish and brazen enthusiasm, he listened to Potter ramble out his speculations and findings. There was something almost sad about the fact that he couldn’t recall such monumental moments at the end of his freedom. But even more so was the bitterness. What good was trapping your enemy in an isolated reality when you couldn’t savour their despair and defeat? The past aside, he could respect Potter’s curiosity concerning the mysteries Hogwarts held and a new appreciation for knowledge; Potter’s interest in Hogwarts secrets was less appreciated before as it often inhibited his plans.

 

“You seem to know quite a lot for someone your age. Where did you learn so much?” It was obvious, considering he lived in a school, but Tom Riddle had learned long ago that flattery was a _very_ useful tool. Especially on a child in such circumstances, praise would go a long way in warming up to him.

 

“Heh…w-well, the Hogwarts library is fairly b-big…I had _s-some_ time to spare…” Tom was amused by the kid’s sarcasm, however unexpected it was. Overlooking the wit, the boy had implied with modesty. Flattening his fringe down over his forehead with his fingers, the boy bunkered down back into his shell of insecurity.

 

That didn’t mean _just a few_ books though…

 

“ _Surely_ you didn’t-,” he gaped at the boy, he couldn’t be inferring what he thought he was. Even _he_ hadn’t managed _that_ , “The **_whole_** of it?”

 

At the boy’s nod, he glanced at the boy appraisingly. This boy no longer represented and embodied the light agenda. No longer was he faced with a hard-headed Gryffindor teen, praised by society for simply _being._ He was looking at a new page, slightly marked by desolation, and consoled himself with knowledge. As an enemy, he wouldn’t appreciate the odds as much, but as a potentially mouldable force- _he sounded far too much like the bearded fool_ _-_ to become his ally- that was a far more favourable prospect.

 

“What a Ravenclaw accomplishment…” he smirked, squeezing the boy’s hand, still within his own, “Many past Ravenclaws would be awfully jealous.”

 

“Ravenclaw?” he mused with a contemplative tilt of the head, “I’m not sure if I would quite fit into that house…”

 

“What makes you believe so? Are you too daring? Or perhaps you prefer other activities over learning?”

 

Don’t tell him that the kid’s still a damned, shining bright, Gryffindor after all.

 

“No! I love to learn! I honestly couldn’t enjoy anything more- except perhaps flying. It’s just, I’m not an intellectual, I’m twelve years old and can’t manage a single spell with a wand! It makes it hard to learn spells without a wand, most wandless spell explanations are likened to wand-involved concepts.”

 

He certainly just gave him some food for thought. Might as well butter him up to make him continue…

 

“I don’t believe a _word_ of that, Little one!” He began with a chuckle, “If you had said those same words to my fellow students, a good many of them wouldn’t have known the meaning of half those words. Attempting to teach yourself magic theory is an idea that wouldn’t cross most of their minds were they in your situation.

 

It wasn’t a lie, not completely. No matter where he went, in Tom’s opinion, he was surrounded by idiots. The fact that the boy was _twelve_ and was a practitioner of wandless magic gave him many questions about how he has developed magically and physically in the little dimension. Perhaps the accelerated timeline was compensated with a decelerated aging equivalent? (read: is physically younger than what he is) Has this affected his magic too? Has it developed further with strenuous exercise or has it remained dormant in all but aura due to his age? He knew a way to get these answers.

 

“If this really does bother you though, I could give you a _few_ pointers…wandless magic _is_ quite complicated.”

 

At this Potter looked up, astonishment lacing his features, enthusiastically nodding and he gripped Tom’s hand in both of his. _Definitely a Ravenclaw._

Surely there can’t be any hurt in teaching the boy a bit of wandless magic? He won’t exactly be able to influence the outside world by doing it. Looking at his track record, this would probably be another mistake…Why couldn’t he just leave the boy as defeated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sill not very steady-footed when it comes to dialogue and character progression...But this is a thousand words so that's something right?


	11. Sleep Is Cunning Like It’s Cousin: Death, The Sleepy Very Rarely Quite So…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm too tired to do a real summary. Harry is a gushing preteen with a border-line hero-worship/crush on Tom. In his desperation to keep Tom with him he uses his true colours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep saying that this will be it for the week but i keep posting more. No one has complained yet though so ill just bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb...ha whoops? That may or may not have been produced by my forehead hitting the keyboard as I zonked out for a second...I'm gonna go sleep...night all.

**Tom really was everything he could have hoped for in a friend** \- _companion, confidant, brother._ More than he could have wished to have or thought himself deserving of. Tom was just so wonderful!

 

Now it might have been him exaggerating with the greatness of the first person he had ever met, but some things just couldn’t be denied. He could have left him alone in the dungeon, in the castle and continued on his way, but he decided to be _his_ friend! At first, he was a little hesitant, not sure if he could completely trust him, but Tom made it so easy to relax and just let everything he held inside out. He never knew that simply talking about his desolation could relieve his burden so greatly! The more time he spent with Tom, the longer his list of reasons for Tom being an amazing friend grew!

 

Tom was an attentive and good listener; he listened to him ramble on about himself, his life, Hogwarts and **_so many_** books, without a single complaint or a lapse in attention. He even asked questions on his thoughts and opinions throughout!

 

Then there was the fact that Tom was an extraordinary wizard! He couldn’t put into words how truly inspiring his feats of magic were that he showed him. He could move _humongous_ masses of rock from around the castle, even several! And make them juggle in the air!

 

 Along with his prowess, Tom was _really smart_. Like super-duper smart! He could recite whole textbook passages and explain them in ways to make it easier to understand. He also had read a good deal of the books in the library as well- _though not as much as him, which he could tell bruised Tom’s pride ever so **slightly.**_

****

Tom was also very kind and patient. As he taught him and spoke with him he always had the softest, most soothing croon. Like velvet, it nearly lulled him into sleep when Tom spoke at length to explain a complex concept he should have been attempting to understand. _Not that Tom was boring! No, not like the History Professor that Tom described from his Hogwarts days- Professor Binns._  It must have just been the late hour! _Absolutely_!

 

But, any drowsiness was flushed out of his system along with all the blood in his face as Tom glanced at him and then towards the window, where the moon hung inconspicuously until now. Seemingly coming to a decision, Tom stood from his chair and closed the books and notepads they had set out on the table.

 

“What are you doing Tom? We can continue! I’m sorry for getting distracted, I was just a little tired, that’s all! Please don’t leave!” he cried, getting more desperate at Tom’s seemingly imminent exit. His sudden pleas caused Tom’s head to swing up in mild alarm before his expression fell into pity.

 

“It’s time I left, for now, Little one,” he gently reasoned, “I know I haven’t been long, but it is late, I can see you are quite tired as well.”

 

Catching him in the middle of rubbing the sleep from his drooping eyes, he quickly placed the offending limbs into his lap and tried to appear as alert as possible.

 

“ ‘M not that tired,” he said with a pout, stifling an incriminating yawn. To this, Tom merely responded with a singular raised eyebrow of judgement and a disbelieving stare. Responding in kind, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and reciprocated the same expression. He didn’t think he managed it quite well as Tom stared undeterred until he conceded defeat and flopped face first into the table. He heard a chuckle as long fingers entwined themselves in his hair. He began to massage his scalp as the sounds of shuffling books and papers returned. With the soothing fingers pulling him from consciousness, his drowsy brain produced a foolproof idea: He would fall asleep and leave Tom to take him to bed, that way at least, he would stay that tad longer.

 

All according to plan, as he finally gave in to the clutches of sleep, he felt strong arms wrap around him and turn him so that he was cradled to a solid expanse of warm robed chest. The following motion seemingly a sway of walking that did none but help to lull him deeper.

 

“I will return soon, Little one.” Was the final assurance he received after being tucked into a warm bed somewhere.

 

_Yeah, he was no Ravenclaw, that was for sure…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just expressing myself through Harry to be honest. So tiiiiiired.


	12. Detached Desperation To A Disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what happened to Harry's body and Tom gets a terrifying taste of what it truly feels like to be immortal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! I made it through the week! School sucks, but stay in it! Also...WE HIT 1000 HITS!!! So here is a longer chapter than usual. Also, I narrowed down the time differences in dimensions.
> 
> 12Rt = Ht  
> (Harry’s time is 12x as fast)  
> 30 Real Days = 360 Orb Days  
> 1 Real Day = 12 Orb Days  
> 14 Real Hours = 1 Orb Week  
> 2 Real Hours = 1 Orb Day  
> 1 Real Hour = 12 Orb Hours  
> 45 Real Minutes = 9 Orb Hours  
> 30 Real Minutes = 6 Orb Hours  
> 15 Real Minutes = 3 Orb Hours  
> 5 Real Minutes = 1 Orb Hour

**_That little brat._ **

****

Potter had fallen asleep on him! Not literally, of course _, that would have been punishable by **death**_ , but he had fallen asleep without the courtesy of walking himself to a bed first! So then, he had to keep up appearances and _carry_ him to bed! Tom had placed all the borrowed utensils and books into a similarly borrowed bag, he had swung it onto his back and taken the boy into his arms.

 

He really was far too light, he had assessed as he strode out of the library- only to be faced with another concerning observation. _Where does he put the kid?_

Did he put him in Gryffindor, where he _used_ to be? In Ravenclaw where he would be most suited? Or perhaps in his own preference? Slytherin? No, none of those would do…He had the perfect way to teach the brat a lesson…

 

So Tom strode down towards to kitchens with a skip in his step and a mischievous smirk on his lips. Heading towards the stack of barrels on the right-hand nook of the corridor, he tapped the barrel second from the bottom in the middle of the second row in the tune of Helga Hufflepuff. Lid swinging open, he climbed inside, careful not to wake the child in his arms. He wanted this to be a surprise… He then went down the hall leading off from the Hufflepuff common room into the boys’ _first-year_ dormitories. From there he tucked the boy in and promised to visit soon.

 

He would need to figure out how long he would need to wait in the real world to view the boy’s reaction as he woke in the Hufflepuff dorms… Surely the boy would have learned the connotations of the Hufflepuff house in all his reading? He’d better have, damned ‘puff.

 

**_~_ **

 

‘ _Numquam mutatio’_ had been the spell he used on Potter’s body; essentially meaning, ‘never change’- a stasis spell. Reduced to nothing more than a breathing corpse really… It was an oddly disturbing thing; to see the boy lifeless and defeated. But here it was, an empty shell as many would describe, very much like the victim of a dementor’s kiss; at least they have _some_ brain activity though, however undignified it makes them. 

He had not yet built his own manor, being still so soon after the main conflicts of the war. Monetary resources were being directed mostly towards repairs of infrastructure and compensation. Though only to those caught in the cross-fire; _he_ wasn't going to pay for the losses of **blood traitors** and **mudbloods** … But back to his original line of thought, being in the Malfoy Manor still, he had managed to secure a room entirely for his trophies. As much as he wanted to parade Harry Potter’s body in a glass case in his office for the eternities to come, he conceded to the thought that to do so may be a tad _too_ pretentious. _But he would be damned if he didn’t admit that he wouldn’t have made quite the wall fixture to be proud of._

So, here it was, lying atop a glass-encased altar, surrounded by his many other tokens of triumph, accomplishments and the few sentimental possessions he owned as well. He had originally thought of torching Potter’s body with an _incendio_ \- _before he had removed the soul_ –removing the soul when he passed out from pain, then proceed to torch what remained into oblivion. It would have been such a joyous and _passionate_ celebration…Such a pity he decided the risk was too great. He _could torch the body **now** but it simply wouldn’t have the same satisfaction; the moment was gone._

 

Various items of note were his _journal_ , Slytherin’s Locket, Hufflepuff’s Cup, Ravenclaw’s Diadem, The Sword of Gryffindor and the Gaunt Ring. All of which he had secured from Hogwarts, either directly after the battle or in the later months of repair. The sword was a particularly satisfying claim of a war spoil. The only way he had been able to get the sword was because the Longbottom boy had still been holding it when he found him, fighting off his Death Eaters _\- even after Harry Potter was ‘dead.’_

To be quite honest, Harry Potter made quite the picture, cleaned, of course, surrounded by various riches in his glass and richly embellished case. As much as he hated the boy before now, he still recognised him as one of his- and most likely his last for a _very_ long time –formidable foes. To remember him and preserve his memory was to be expected. Of course, he wouldn't do this for any other rebel, merely as Potter was his prophesied equal.

 

The only thing missing from this grand, high ceilinged and gold trimmed room, was the orb. He just couldn’t bring himself to keep it here on a shelf, he’d spend half his day walking back and forth from here to his office if that were the case! He simply couldn’t stop studying it, whether it be by prodding its magic, or by simply viewing its inhabitant as it went through its day to day life. To no little degree of smugness, he often saw the child looking out the window the Hogwarts Gates or practising more wandless spells _with_ a considerably higher level of success.

 

The child was obviously well and truly under his thumb, but the child too had ensnared him, but in a different way. Where Potter craved affection, interaction and approval, Tom desired knowledge, power and compliance. To continuing experimenting and observing the orb and the boy’s behaviour was a temptation that always consumed some considerable part of his mind constantly nowadays. If he were to have been this distracted during the wars, where his tactical brilliance and magical prowess was most crucial, they would certainly have lost.

 

Now though, that they were in a relative peace period, his obligations were fewer- _not that it stopped the paperwork piling up_ –and less urgently needed.  This left him with more time to investigate the nature of the ball and it’s still unknown origins and workings.

 

Despite this apparent abundance of time, he still had made no progress on the matter of _how_ the orb’s dimension came to be. Yes, he had certainly discovered more and about its characteristics and those of its inhabitant. But those, intriguing as they were, weren’t what he really needed or desired. He just had this feeling, feelings which often proved true, that he was missing some key detail that lied inside the orb itself; hence, he interacted with Harry, aside from intrigue.

 

Speaking of the said enigma, the boy’s reaction, as he observed hour and a half ago, was similarly underwhelming. He’d hoped for perhaps a tad bit of anger or indignation. All the boy did was pout in childish confusion; _perhaps he **wasn’t** aware of the ‘Puff connotations? _All in all, sorely disappointing, his minute revenge and the eternal damnation had both failed. At this point, he was beginning to wonder if fate was just adamant against any of his malicious attempts at the boy…

 

Speaking of time though, by now it should have been about one whole day in Potter’s life! The knowledge gave him a heady feeling. The news wasn’t utterly shocking, he’d already done the math, but it gave him pause. _Is this what it would feel like, generations of wizards and witches from now? Simply losing his sense of time to a point that it seems slower for him as others’ lives rush past?_ While it made him feel as superior as he’d ever thought and wished for him to be, it also made him somewhat desperate experience everything before it slipped away in the stream of time. Now that Potter was the only thing seemingly speeding away from him in time, he felt the desperate need to ensure not too much had changed without him. It was odd, almost sentimental at its origins, but he didn’t want to be left without having gained any and all experiences and knowledge.

 

Before he knew it, he was storming- _almost running ­_ –down the halls of Malfoy Manor to his office. He attempted to suppress his magic as he went; it was panicked and he didn’t want to alarm any followers or draw curious subjects to his wing. If they _were_ to manage to attain entry to his office, it would be questionably empty as he was to enter the orb imminently.

 

Putting up the custom wards over his door, Tom grabbed the orb and used the technique he cultivated from his earlier studies. Using legilimency he stared into the orbs depth as if it were one’s eye. However, instead of simply diving in as though it were one’s mind or a pensieve, he made certain to pull the physically aware part of his consciousness with him. No reason to trap his mental faculties within the orb as well and leave his own body behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to comment! I love reading them most of all!


	13. Relations: Thicker Than Water Of The Womb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has an exciting idea which Tom debunks with a riddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to do a time skip for this chapter and move along the plot, but my character-development senses were tingling. Not really, it just didn't feel right to do a time-skip there when I started writing. It probably won't happen the next chapter either- but maybe in the 15th?

From the moment he woke, he felt an odd sensation- one of being watched. It was like a presence was in the corners and shadows of each room or place he found himself in. It wasn’t entirely obtrusive or uncomfortable, it was more like a curious observer was overseeing his actions. How he knew what that felt like wasn’t a question he could answer but he simply had that impression.

 

Another odd thing he noticed upon waking up, was that he was in the Hufflepuff dorms. From what Tom told him, Tom was in Slytherin back then, not just that, he was Slytherin _Prefect! And **Head Boy!** Tom really was great._

But the question still remained. How did he know where the Hufflepuff dorms were? They _were_ both in the dungeons so they were _kinda_ close he supposed… Maybe Tom had discovered them all- like him! He knew Tom was smart but all the common rooms were super-secret! This knowledge gave them another thing they had in common! He wondered if Tom knew all the secret passages too? He _must_ as he knew where the Chamber of Secrets was. Speaking of which… He must know _Parseltongue_ as well, to have been able to gain entry and find him… This brought him to a realisation that made him damn near euphoric as they had something even more exceptional in common- _something few others that didn’t exist in his ‘reality’ as Tom often called it. He still needed to ask Tom about that, he only caught the term in Tom’s ponderings to himself-_ but they also must be _related!_ He’d read it in a sparse few books but the facts were consistent. Parseltongue was a trait only inherited by the descendants of Salazar Slytherin. Tom and he could be _real brothers!_

 

He honestly didn’t realise how much time had past before he looked up from the grass his was playing with and realised that he had at some point gone outside…and it had also become midday at some point. This shock was reinforced with the considerably loud growl of his stomach, reminding him that he had been interrupted in preparing to wash his harvest by Tom’s arrival and therefore hadn’t eaten. It was concerning how distracted got by Tom…

 

Getting up at the prompt of another, louder complaint of hunger, he made his way back over to the well he had left abandoned the day before. Looking down into its depths for the bucket, he sighed at the black abyss and began the arduous task of pulling the bucket up again from the bottom. A sudden crack behind him, however, caused his grip to slip. The rope slid between his fingers, causing him to let go with a hiss. He looked down at his hands, which were raw and stinging from the rope burn he had received. Resignedly he looked back down in the well only to see the bucket floating, filled, back up towards him. The bucket then sat itself down on the edge of the well where he almost knocked it from as he saw not only his reflection in the water. Swinging around, he flung his arms around Tom’s waist. There was but a second of hesitation before Tom’s own arms wrapped around him and he gave a surprise and breathless laugh.

 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the impression that you might be a _bit_ happy to see me…” teased Tom, still sound a little winded at the force of his ‘greeting’.

 

Remembering himself, he stepped back a little and looked back at the well to hide his blush.

 

“Just a bit,” he confirmed, before turning back as his blush had sufficiently receded and continuing somewhat awkwardly, “Thank you- for getting the bucket…”

 

“No need, it was my fault, after all; I wished to see if the non-apparition wards around the school still held; it seems not.” Placated Tom, scruffing his hair slightly in an affectionate way. _That reminded him!_

“Tom!” he just about exclaimed in his excitement, “We’re brothers!”

 

Tom pulled back at this with a shocked and confused expression on his face.

 

“What…, exactly, gave you-“ Tom tried to as but was interrupted by another flurry of eager syllables.

 

“You found me in the Chamber of Secrets! That means you are a Parselmouth- like me! And if you are a Parselmouth, then you _must_ be related to Salazar Slytherin- like me! I’m a Parselmouth too, Tom! See? We’ve gotta be…brothers. Or, well…perhaps, maybe…not brothers…maybe…cousins?” he said, getting more nervous at Tom’s frozen expression and began rambling further as a result and falling into silence and staring at his feet scuffing the dirt.

 

“Hmmm, well I can’t deny that I _am_ a descendant of Slytherin and a Parselmouth, but we aren’t brothers, or cousins,” Tom informed him regretfully, “I’m sure this confuses you, but it’s a long convoluted story that I wish to spare you. All I will say though, is we are more closely related than you know.”

 

The last name Riddle _really_ suited Tom. He guessed it was a good thing he liked them then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Mariiechan, I just had an idea for a slash story between snakey-Voldemort and Harry. It's not quite formed yet (most of my ideas start as a sentence or a fragment of a sentence from somewhere in the story and I go from there) so it'll need a little development before I begin posting it. I'll let you know in the Author Notes though when I do begin posting it.


	14. Relations: Thicker Than Bloodshed of Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is bored by Harry until his playful side comes out to...play. Tom is then shocked and deduces that Harry is even more of a heartless tyrant than he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOHOO! 100 Kudos! I love you guys too! I've made a 2000 word chapter in celebration. Not sure how to feel about it though... I feel like it was just a boring filler, didn't progress the plot or anything very much... But next chapter will be a 'time skip'!

Harry had a certain look in his eye that Tom was quite familiar with…

 

 ** _Curiosity_**.

 

Many would mistake it for suspicion, the way he squinted slightly and had a serious set about his lips. But Tom had worn this expression many a time. Seen it through the eyes of others as he rushed through their memories- usually after mere inquisition didn’t satiate him enough. The look was subtle on his own features. Potter, frankly, hadn’t had enough human exposure to be aware of the necessity in inconspicuousness and wearing masks.

 

Therefore, throughout the day Tom had caught this look directed at him when the boy thought he wasn’t looking or when he was speaking. He tried to see if there was a pattern, conversational topics, actions, places, expressions, but it seemed to be spread across the spectrum he had shown- which was, honestly, never a big one, in Tom’s case. Yes, he had experienced looks of a similar thread with other company, but Potter’s gaze was so much more focussed- _potent_ –like a laser trying to cut through his skin and dissect him piece by piece. It reminded him of Dumbledore’s ‘x-ray vision’ look in the worst of ways. Although, it did lead to far more mirthful and amusing things, like the, scrunched up little nose and crinkled eyebrows he would attain after an especially look inspection; as though he was thinking too hard.

 

He ignored it though; he ignored it as they ate, he ignored it as he practised magic, he ignored it as Potter showed him about the forest and he ignored it when he was given quite the unnecessary tour around the castle.

 

“When did you say you were at Hogwarts?” inquired the boy as he ducked behind another tapestry in another secret passage that he already knew of.

 

 “Nineteen-thirty-seven until nineteen-fourty-four.” he curtly replied, failing somewhat to hide his less than engaged mindset.

 

“Ohhhh…so you might not have seen those yet…from what I’ve read they were installed after your time…” the brat thought aloud. He would have been curious to discover what changes had happened to the castle since he had graduated, but the chances that he hadn’t seen it during the battle or afterwards were slim- if the change was of any significance that is. Nevertheless, he followed the boy who was gripping his sleeve up several dipping, curving and climbing passages until they reached an intersection between a corridor and a dead end. Releasing his sleeve, he expected the boy to point out some amazing new _tapestry_ or _scuff on the wall,_ so he leaned against the one behind him and studied the halls around him with no interest what so ever. The only thing he vaguely recognised as different was the statue of an old witch with a hunch. But that could easily have been there before, he hadn’t memorised _every_ statue in this damn castle. _Although counting them may have been a wise idea in retrospect of the battle…_ Having not heard from the kid for quite a few minutes now, he turned back to the dead-end corridor to see it empty. The boy had disappeared. That was _mildly_ concerning.

 

Perhaps he had learned to do wandlessly disillusion himself while Tom wasn’t looking at the orb? Unlikely, he still can’t even summon something _an inch_ away from him…

 

Maybe he went down another hallway? Or secret passage?

 

Looking behind the tapestries within the area he found that none were covering an opening. Checking the former possibility with magic he scanned the surrounding halls and found no sign of him. But that was just in the halls…the statue on the other hand…It seemed that this new feature was indeed new. It also appeared to be connected to a tunnel leading through the castle and, from what he would guess, out of it, beyond what Tom could sense. If this had existed when he was in school he would surely have been notified of its existence; it would have been quite useful for his and his followers…activities.

 

But how to open it? Was there a spell? A password? A switch or something of the sort?

 

Curiosity well and peaked at this point, Tom paced around the fixture and tapped his bottom lip thoughtfully with his index finger as he studied the obstacle posed before him.

 

**_If worst comes to worst, he could always blast it open…_ **

 

But Potter was inside. He wouldn’t to scare the boy…or harm him, he _guessed_.

 

Before he could come up with an alternate solution, however, Potter’s mess of inky curls sprang out of the hump playfully, accompanied by a childish grin and _Avada_ _Kedavra_ eyes full of mischief.

 

“Why, hello there, Little one. Care to tell me where you came from?” Tom greeted with a querying expression thoroughly mixed with amusement.

 

“Around…” Potter evaded as he withheld his giggles and traces circles into the rim of the stump.

 

“Well, I believe you were just showing me ‘around’, were you not?” Tom trapped him with his own evasion, “Care to show me this part of ‘ _around’_?”

 

“Maybe…If you can catch me!” challenged Harry with a _deliciously_ evil grin. With that said he gave a little laugh and comically ducked into the stump again, closing it as he went.

 

Damn brat already knew how curious he was as well. Was that what he was trying to figure out? Surely, he wasn’t that transparent? But then again, _‘takes one to know one’_ he guessed, and Potter and he were certainly cut from the same cloth somewhere along the line. 

 

From there he began his hunt. Running through hallways and down stairways, he followed the general path of the passage he was barred from. The boy seemed to have the same idea but did so at a faster rate and sped ahead in what he assumed was a tunnel. Tom would never have fit inside it anyway; it seemed tiny.

 

After exiting the castle and onto the grounds he traced the path which was now beneath his feet. Deciding it was taking too long go on foot and hoping to surprise Potter, he apparated to the end of his magic senses repeatedly. A much more effective tactic he assessed and he continued until he found himself in the cellar of some store. Inspecting the crates around him he saw the label of ‘Honeydukes’ on each of them. Of course, Potter would know a secret passage out of the castle and into the stores of a candy shop.

 

Potter was only coming into his range now…he had plenty of time to set a trap…

 

Looking through the boxes he found one filled with _Sweet and Sour Serpents_. It looks like their entire stock had been removed from the shelves _. Did he make bigotry against snakes so profound that they wouldn’t even sell them as confectionary anymore? That’s a true sign of affirmation, that is when you know you have become the worst Dark Lord to have ever lived…_ But then again, based on the flavours listed on the box, they might have just been very unpopular.

 

_Strawberry_

_Starfruit_

_Sugar_

_Sausages_

_Salad_

_Sweet Chilli Sauce_

_Salmon_

_Squid_

_Sardines_

_Soy Sauce_

_Sea Salt_

**_Sand?!_ **

****

It just got worse the further he went down…Was alliteration really that big of a selling point? He had to commend him though, that was a lot of…flavours- _he hesitated to call them that_ -beginning with ‘S’ they came up with.

 

Giving a wave of his hand, the snakes came alive and slithered out of the boxes to join into one great big serpent. As large as it was though- _which was about the length of Nagini, bless her fragment of a soul_ –the effect was ruined by the fact that it was rainbow. Undeterred though, Tom sent the mass of snakes back into its crate and closed the lid loosely. Hiding as well to enjoy the show, Tom disillusioned himself with a thought and waited, for extra certainty, in the shadows of the cellar.

 

Eventually, the boy arrived. With a peek through the tiles he gave a mischievous grin and climb out. Potter probably thought he had the jump on him was Tom’s reasoning as he watched Potter leisurely look through the crates as if he had done so many times and knew which contained his favourite sweets already. Deciding this to be the perfect time to start his trick, Tom slowly levitated the lid open and made the conglomeration of snakes slither out. The sugary beast crept between crates and slowly over to the distracted child. Potter by now was halfway submerged into a box of chocolate frogs, assumedly trying to find one he hadn’t opened. Exploiting the child’s moment of exposure, the serpent loosely coiled around Potter’s feet- _which were nearly off the ground with how deep the boy had submerged himself into the box_ -then suddenly, it sprung! The snake coiled quickly and tightly around Potter’s body and lifted him out of the box and into the air. There was a short squeak of surprise before a gasp.

 

From there Tom had expected, at the very most, peeing of pants and at the very least, shock. That certainly didn’t follow… The child **_laughed_**. He then hissed a greeting in Parseltongue and asked its name! On second thought, he did find the kid curled atop a basilisk corpse…that probably should have been the first clue…

 

 _~Hello! Who are **you**?~ _ Potter asked in delighted surprise. Tom ignored the sudden urge he felt to answer the boy who spoke his inherited language. It was merely a side-effect from being the one in control of the snake. To serpents, as he had studied, the language was almost a compelling charm in itself, being connected to the snake through his spell seemed to give him second-hand effects.

 

Instead of having the snake answer, he had it lift the boy higher and turn him upside-down. This was answered with a giggle-filled scream as the boy was swung around.

 

 _~Tom?!... Are you…behind this?~_ Potter called between laughs and squeals, too caught up to realise he was still speaking Parseltongue, that or he couldn’t tell the difference. The child couldn’t have known he was here but the situation was suspicious enough he guessed.

 

Potter then grabbed hold of the snakes body and swung himself behind its head so he could straddle it. Looking around the room suspiciously, Potter casually ripped a snake from the group and ate it, causing the beast to scream in pain. All the while Potter was quite unaffected.

 

_What a **heartless** creature…_

 

Somewhere between indignant and awed, Tom strode out from his hiding spot. The boy’s keen eyes followed the movement; he must have caught some kind of shimmer in the charm. _Observant…_ Removing the charm on both himself and the snake he made sure to pick one that wasn’t _utterly revolting_ and lounged on the mountain of others.

 

 _~Caught you.~_ Tom said with a satisfied smirk and a victorious look at Potter as he plopped the snake into his mouth.

 

_Sure, it wasn’t exactly giving him any answers, but Tom had learnt over his seventy-two years of life, that he should trust his instincts above his mind and especially above anyone else. While he couldn’t see this achieving any result either, he knew that not all rewards had a foreseeable route and that whatever he was doing now felt right. Whether it was pretending to care for the boy, being amused by his antics, intrigued by his new character, or using this time to find clues on the orb and Potter’s consciousness. Whatever he was doing, it was the way to go._

_~Are you quite sure?~_ was Potter’s answer as he twirled Tom’s wand between his fingers.

 

**_How in the-!?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember: Leave a comment if you have any feedback, questions or suggestions for other stories! Also, leave a comment if you can pin point how Harry got Tom's wand, he's quite craft our little Harry.


	15. Lies Weaved from Threads of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time Skip Time! Its been a year in Harry's time and one month in Tom's. They have grown considerably closer but this a challenged when some truths are abruptly uncovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Nearly forgot to update. I've got a math assignment, an art project for a friend and three fanfics on the go! Lets not even mention the five-hour shift yesterday and the 8 hours shift today. Ugh.

 

It had been a month since that day. In that time, Tom had seen Harry grow. Not much, thankfully, yet he learned much more about him as well. As had been first seen when the cheeky minx had stolen his wand, the boy sported quite the cunning streak which Tom had yet to decide whether it was a sign of influence from his Horcrux. This trait had only become more pronounced along with the contradicting kind and affectionate side of the boy. If there were such a thing he would think the boy would have been sorted into Slytherpuff.

At thirteen years of age, Harry was still small, lithe even, with fair skin and shaggy black hair. In the year he spent with Harry, he had put the boy through an eye corrective regime of potions; no longer were the Avada Kedavra eyes obscured by lenses no doubt found in the room of requirement or somewhere else. That was, however, the only reparations he made on the boy's body. He could have repaired the years of malnutrition, but- call it selfish, unethical, whatever you wish; he's heard it all before- he had grown fond of the boy's convenient size. Not only for teasing and for having an advantage over the boy, but it made carrying him easy; it was a common occurrence at this point, the boy being unable to keep up and often falling asleep on their late night concurrences. He feared giving the boy nutritional supplements may cause him to grow too much to enjoy these perks. In another situation, he would have given them for the boy's ability to protect himself fully, but Tom held the firm belief that he could sufficiently protect his last Horcrux given its whereabouts.

Speaking of which, the tempting little ball he so often frequented became a permanent addition to his person at this stage. So far in the future from when he was in Hogwarts with his original following and with most competent company killed in the last war, the Dark Lord found himself at a loss for enjoyable, let alone tolerable, company. Whenever he could spare a minute, he would sneak a look into the ball or even visit Harry for a few minutes or more.

The boy was used to his sporadic and irregular visits which were often cut short abruptly. Harry didn't know what Tom's role was in ‘his reality' but Tom had told him that he held an important role. For Tom, the orb had become something of a stress-relief, a place to escape the world and be with something that was utterly his. Harry was his to mould, see, speak to, listen to, be hugged by, and express affection in return. The fact that no one else knew of Harry's continued existence of his whereabouts being literally in his pocket stirred something in him. Though the idea of keeping Harry hidden away to be coveted and kept for eternity was a tempting one, he also loved to be the one to put a look of happiness and wonder on his boy's face. He wanted to be able to show Harry with the wonders of the world and magic that he had witnessed after he had left Hogwarts. He wanted to see his eyes sparkled and glowed as they reflected the Aurora Borealis; to see his little nose tinge pink in the bitter temperatures at the top of Mount Everest; to see his raven locks whip about in the Island winds of stone henge.

He would do this immediately if it had not been for the uncertainties in releasing Harry from his containment. Would his soul return to his body? Would he regain his memories? Would he be able to return to the orb? Would Harry's Hogwarts disappear? The trip would only be finite length one, he didn't like the idea of sharing Harry with the rest of the world for an extended period of time, especially if he was recognised. As far as he had discovered, the boy's reality extended to a little beyond Hogsmeade and a similar distance in all direction around Hogwarts. This made the boy awfully curious about what ‘Tom's World' had to offer. If he ever let Harry out, forget if he could put him back in, it'd be a matter if Harry would want to return.

But now wasn't the time for such thoughts; as he said earlier, Harry was a haven for relief, not a source of stress.

At the moment, he was laying in his and Harry's favourite spot on the grounds. Lying with his back against the tree by the lake, he held Harry's small form between his legs, fingers threaded through silky locks. They'd been there for a while, since just after lunch; the view before them was of the sun casting red and orange rays across the Black Lake and grounds.

Harry's soft voice broke the silence, "Do you know _how_ I got here, Tom?"

His fingers paused in their ministrations before continuing after a beat. It was the only indication of surprise he gave but Harry undoubtedly noticed. He knew to tell Harry the whole truth would be a mistake, but perhaps a part of it would suffice.

"To be quite honest, I myself was the one to put you here. For your protection, you were too precious to have in my world, you still are." Tom vaguely supplied. It wasn't a lie, being his only Horcrux, Harry was precious and he was placed here for his protection from the outside world…mostly.

"What!" Harry shot up to look at Tom with something akin to betrayal welling in his verdant eyes, "You placed me here- on purpose! I thought it was an accident! Why did you _leave_ me here for so _long_?"

By this point, there were tears to match his soft and breaking voice. "It wasn't my intention to leave you alone, Little one," Tom crooned, lifting a hand to cup Harry's cheek. Harry leaned into it despite his emotional turmoil, "I thought you would be left in a stasis until it was safe for me to release you. I didn't think all of this would materialise when you appeared."

He gestured to their surroundings with his other hand as he said that. Again, none of what he said was untrue, perhaps a little edited for his benefit but it unlikely that Harry would ever get the means to find out otherwise.

"What made the world so dangerous for you to have to keep me here…?" questioned Harry, still somewhat putout at this revelation.

"When I placed you here, the world at the end of a war. Despite this, there were- and are –still, many who would hurt you. You would remember this, but when I placed you in here, it seemed to cleanse your soul. You started over completely, physically and mentally," Tom paused to see how he was handling all the information, so far Harry seemed to be handling it like he did all new information; eagerly and greedily, "It's why I was a little hesitant when finding you. You don't even have a name in this little reality! I had no idea how exactly to approach you."

On that same train of thought, he had known Harry for a ‘year' and were yet to find the need to give him a name. ‘Little one' had sufficed up until this point.

The boy was silent for a few more minutes. Assuming Harry would be lost in his thoughts for a while longer, he maneuvered him back into his lap. Planning to place a warming charm on Harry and himself, he cast around for his wand, which was promptly pulled out of a sleeve of Harry's and handed back to him without the boy looking up.

_Cunning minx indeed…_

Looking back up to the sky, he decided that the day had taken an emotionally draining turn for Harry and he most likely wouldn't be very interested in star-gazing, as they had planned, tonight. He picked up the mentally preoccupied boy of his and took them up to the castle where he laid with the boy in the room of requirement.

**_Lies were too easy to weave from threads of truth._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment feedback, suggestions for future chapters and other stories you would like me to write! I'm about to post the first few chapters of another slash fic between Voldemort and Harry. I might also do another of just compilations of one-shots. It'll be more of a creative exercise for fun more than anything else. Thank you for reading everyone!


	16. Stuck in A Parody of Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is dissatisfied and curious as ever. In a spur of the moment idea, he decides to find a pensieve and Hogwarts is all too willing to direct him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a pretty rubbish week. I've been pretty happy to just sit down and write this. But creative waves haven't been very cooperative today. Though I feel pretty happy with this chapter, despite its length. Writing long chapters is hard. I got the beginning, I got the end, but the middle is sorta important... but so hard to make interesting...

_Tom left again._

 

As impossible as it was, it seemed like Tom left more than he arrived. He didn’t want to be ungrateful for the man’s presence- _he was truly grateful to not be alone._ But, it was like Treacle Tart- _food of the **gods**_ \- once he had his first bite, he needed more. Eventually, he ate all the school had left and the house elves seemingly didn’t need recipes. He had tried to look through the library for a cookbook- that may have been a considerable contributor to his scouring of books in the library- but it seemed that treacle tart wasn’t valued as an important feature to the curriculum. He eventually learnt two lessons in the mournful and torturous weeks following.

 

  1. Moderation: all good things should be taken in moderation.
  2. Once you have had something good, you will only want more.



 

Tom was the best thing since Treacle Tart! He wouldn’t say _ever_ ; he was still weighing the two against each other, but the point still stood. Now that he had a taste of friendship and human interaction, he needed _more._ He wanted to go out, into Tom’s world of wonders and people and even more magic! But the world Tom described was not untainted. It was scarred from war and a dangerous place for…him; he still blushed at Tom’s use of precious.

 

So, for now, his only connections were in Tom. He made sure to never show or voice his dissatisfaction to him. Not that it was hard, a good majority of the time still being spent on his lonesome. But, he reminded himself constantly, he can’t resent him for it. Tom had an important role out there, and if he were in Tom’s shoes, he would probably be out there just as much; rather than sitting with some kid in this parody of reality. Tom, who was here and gone like the wind, and back again in infuriating and teasing sporadicity that always left him craving and eager.

 

But none of the other visits had left him as yearning as this one.

 

It had been Tom. Tom had placed him here and _left him._ He had a life apparently before he was here. Tom and he were close before, as far as he could tell. He **_wanted_** those memories so _badly. He wanted that **life.**_

****

He spent the following days of Tom’s absence in wonderment and longing of what had possibly been. Did they live together? Did Tom wave him off as he boarded the train to Hogwarts? Wait- Did they go to Hogwarts _together!_ He was ‘cleansed’ physically too so he might have been closer to Tom’s age! He could have been older! Though, considering everything, that would have been weird…He would bombard Tom with questions next time he came! Tom wouldn’t leave out a single detail of their life- _he wanted to imagine it as though they were his **true memories.**_ Perhaps there was a pensieve somewhere…

 

Where would they keep a pensieve in Hogwarts? It wouldn’t be in the room of requirement, no-one would dare lose one of _those_. Who knows who could see your memories and pensieves were _super_ expensive. There wouldn’t be any in the classrooms or dormitories, there would be no need of one… Perhaps in the offices or teachers’ quarters?

 

He began to wander off to the nearest teacher’s office when he felt a draft dance around him. Stopping he looked about the castle waiting curiously for what Hogwarts wish to tell him. The breeze seemed to dance around him repeatedly as though wishing to spin him. Complying he turned in the opposite direction and began to walk to the opposite end on the corridor. He continued to watch for the castles next instruction as he was lead through the castle to the Headmaster’s office. Climbing up the broken staircase, with the watchful and attentive nudges of help on his trek up, he broke through the long blasted through the doorway into the circular room.

 

The room looked to have once been quite opulent, high ceilings, large windows, large columns and an intimidating oak desk. But he wasn’t interested in any of these areas it seemed as the breeze cleared a path through the rubble and broken glass, to a cabinet in the corner, glass panes smashed and a handprint of blood dried onto the door of it. It gave him shivers; whoever had last opened it had been either severely tending to someone severely wounded, mortally wounded themselves or a terrible, terrible person. He hoped it was the former as little better than the rest as it was.

 

Careful not to touch the blood, splintered wood or glass, he opened the two doors as wide as he dared without them breaking off. Inside was what he had been searching for. Though, his curiosity was peaked now…If this had indeed been used in the real world and apparently during the battle, might the memories still be there? He wouldn’t need to ask Tom so many questions if he could get it directly from someone who was at the battle. It would also be a far more genuine telling; he knew Tom probably censored everything he said in relation to the real world.

 

Leaning forward he took a deep breath and dived in. _He hoped Tom wouldn’t be mad…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh, Harry was the last to use that- hense the handprint. And what was the last memory put in there? Severus'! Will Harry realise why Tom placed him there? Will he begin to put together what is being left unsaid? Leave a comment on how you think the story is going! Any advice is welcome!


	17. Excerpts of Our Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry enters the Pensieve and his poor head, already filled with questions, will probably implode at some point soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYY. I'm also back though. School is tough. Last week I really just didn't have it in me to write another chapter. A good quality one at least, and at such a momentous point in the story I don't want to ruin it by writing something trash and having to patch it up. Not sure if this chapter will be very interesting though, it's really just excerpted from DH ch33 p.532. But I did edit stuff around the dialogue, but it's mostly the same. Harry makes his own little commentary. I don't know if he is becoming too much of a self-insert though, I might be projecting too much... 
> 
> Anywho, here is an EXTRA long chapter. So long that it has to be put into two parts. I was going to smash through all the memories but then 4000 words happened and I decided to cut it short at a sentimental scene. Again, sorry and ENJOY.

As soon as he was pitched forward into the wispy, silvery substance of memories, he felt the unfamiliar feeling of falling. Living in an abandoned and decrepit castle would normally entail one receiving their fair share of falls and slips from great heights and he would too have received them, if not for the fact that his castle was magic and held an abnormally high amount of compassion for anything living. At any time that he should lose his footing and stare mortal peril in the face, Hogwarts would unfailingly catch him in a sweep of wind, a net of a tapestry or a pile of parchment. But Hogwarts had little sway over the happenings of his mind, the most it could offer was nearly out of date potions and medication. But here he couldn’t be touched.

 

Soon the endless pit transformed into rough grass in a suburban park somewhere. Upon impact, the sound of girls’ laughter met his ears a few metres away. Looking up he saw that two girls, a red-head and an older brunette, around the ages of nine and ten, were sitting on swings next to each other. It honestly awed and stunned him for a good minute; the sight of companionship, the likes of which he hadn’t seen, nor experienced- that he could recall at least. The view he saw this from was behind a tree, next to a sallow, greasy, raven-haired boy who was crouching behind the great willow, studying the two girls as well. The girls didn’t seem to be doing anything much of importance, just giggling and egging each other to go higher than themselves.

 

Looking at the broader surroundings, he spotted a few intriguing details; or lack thereof. Where he expected to see fences and sidewalks lining what he presumed was a suburban English street, was a gradual blurring and melding of colours into an indistinguishable blur. Some areas more affected than others, it looks like a watercolour picture saturated into something unrecognisable by a glass of water.

 

Eyes irritated by their inability to focus on anything in the distance, he looked back to the girls to see the younger one leap off the swing at her sister's screech of, “Lily, don’t do it!”

 

But the ‘Lily’ was already flying, and quite literally so. She soared off the swing, into the air and began her delayed descent with a flip, all at a speed and smoothness that defied the little amount of Physics that he knew of.

 

He really shouldn’t have been surprised, this _was_ a memory in a magical school; someone here had to be magical in order for it to have found its way into Hogwarts School of _Witchcraft_ and _Wizardry._ But the perspective he was seeing everything from would have to lead him to believe that the lanky boy next to him would have been the Wizard. But then again. It might just be a weird side effect of the memory deteriorating… Whoever last watched this memory must have been in a rush if they didn’t take the steps to properly store it afterwards. He didn’t want to think of the possibility that the last user of the pensieve had died at the scene instead…

 

Shaking himself from his musings- he was seriously becoming like Tom in that way –he realised he need not have as he surely would have resurfaced at the ear-shattering, “ ** _Stop it!_** ” that was screamed by the same brunette, looking at something in Lily’s palm. It was probably some kind of magic.

 

“It’s not hurting you,” the red-head rebutted but threw what looked to be a blossom to the ground anyway.

 

“It's not right,” argued the other girl, still cautiously eying where the flower had landed. Despite this, her voice became tinged with longing at her following question, “how do you do it?”

 

Before Lily could answer, the boy in front of him seemed to eagerly take this as his cue and freed himself from behind the bushes with the opening interjection, “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

 

Understandably, the girls were startled at the sudden appearance of a boy stumbling out of the bushes and inserting himself into their conversation. The elder shrieked and stumbled back a few steps while Lily remained where she was, though similarly unsettled she replied, “What’s obvious?”

 

Visibly coloured and regretting his choice of first impression, the boy covered his embarrassment with his now steadily mounting nervous-excitement. Sparing a glance at the other girl, now hesitating by the swing, he looked back to Lily and spoke in just above a whisper, “I know what you are.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’re…you’re a witch.” He now whispered, only to the girls affronted reaction.

 

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to somebody!” the fiery-haired girl retorted before turning her nose up at the boy and stalking off to her sister.

 

The raven-haired boy was now blushing extremely, “No!” He then ran after her in his ridiculously large and flapping black coat.

 

From there the colours dimmed bit by bit in spots all over. The boy’s voice along with the girls faded and spiked in and out of clarity. He caught various snippets though; the dialogue that must have followed became quite clear.

 

“I’m a wizard…”

 

Cold, disbelieving laughter followed, hauntingly distorted.

 

“…that Snape boy!...spying on us?”

 

“ _You’re_ a muggle.”

 

“We’re leaving!” then signalled the blurred, shifting smudges to completely fade away.

 

Snape seemed to have been the boy’s name? He knew that from a book…Something about Blood Traitors if he remembered correctly. Snape was the name of the muggle the last heir of the Prince line married, thus ensuring her disownment. This boy must have been her son if he was associating with Muggles and Muggle-borns. Oh! How could he have not thought it first! Severus Snape, he was a Potions Master at Hogwarts and the impromptu Headmaster after Albus Dumbledore’s sudden death. The other girl…she must have been a muggle, to not be able to do magic…

 

As the blackness continued to encase him, he realised the terrible situation he had now found himself in. Half the reason for proper memory preservation was to prolong the memory’s shelf-life, the other half was for the safety of the viewer. He’d forgotten the risks of entering a corrupt memory…Was there more to the memory? Or was he now stuck inside the pensieve? Perhaps this part was so deteriorated that nothing perceivable was left. He couldn’t be sure and he didn’t particularly want to stick around and wait. Awful effects can take place on those that linger in memories too long. Worryingly, however, he’d never used a pensieve…he was for all intents and purposes stuck until he was either ejected or Tom found him and pulled him out from the outside.

 

The prospect of Tom finding him here didn’t appeal to him…There was little he could do though, the rift between memories was bottomless and left one without corporeality. He had no form to moved with, even if that would have helped his situation.

 

Just when he was beginning to work himself into a panic attack, a light began to blossom again. Not nearly as well lit as the last memory but just enough to pick out the key characters in the gloom. But before he could completely focus on what was happening, everything seemed to speed forward as though time had sped up. Only a few snippet and scenes met his ears and eyes.

 

The first sight was the canopy of a tree, seemingly a willow but distorted by the exaggerated beams of light from between the leaves. Then flowed in the sound, remaining normal despite the time-lapsed view of the swaying branches.

 

“…being muggle-born?”

 

“No, it doesn’t make any difference.”

 

“Good…”

 

“…not arguing…?” was murmured hesitantly.

 

“Oh, yes, they’re arguing…” was the reluctantly snarky affirmation.

 

“Doesn’t your dad like…magic…?”

 

“…Severus?”

 

“Tuney!” came the joyful observation.

 

A second later a resounding crack echoed as his view flipped to focus on the fading form of a girl running away. She soon, along with all else faded from sight.

 

The next time the darkness was interrupted it was by the sudden hiss of who he now knew as ‘Tuney’, “ _Freak!_ ”.

 

For some reason, the word struck a chord. Somewhere deep inside of him. That voice and that word together stirred something in his mind. Like a wound that had scabbed over, the unpleasant tones of ‘Tuney’ scratched at it, urging it the rip open and bleed anew. Had he been a victim of that title before, in the time he couldn’t remember? He would have to add that to the list of things to ask Tom.

 

He was then seeing the inside of a train compartment. The Hogwarts Express if he was remembering the images from Hogwarts: A History correctly.

 

Inside was Snape, Lily and two other boys. One had shaggy black curls that fell to just above his shoulders and the other had a resemblance to him that was almost identical, minus the height and the spectacles.

 

“…don't want to talk to you…Tuney _h-hates_ me…saw the letter from Dumbledore…”

 

“So what?”

 

 **“So she’s my _sister!_ ” **The number of decibels she just reached in four words certainly proved it…

 

“We’re off to Hogwarts!” considering the context and the uncertainly cheerful tone, he would think that this was a poor attempt at a subject change.

 

“Slytherin?

 

“…I’d leave, wouldn’t you?” a new voice chimed in this time, probably from one of the boys. The fact that the scene in front of his eyes being sped up didn’t allow him to match voices with mouths.

 

“My whole family…” was the extremely faded reply from what must have been the other boy.

 

“ _Gryffindor_ …!”

 

“Got a problem with that?”

 

“Come on, Severus, let’s find another…”

 

Right when he thought the memory would end, a call out surge forward in uncharacteristic clarity.

 

“See ya, **_Snivellus_!** ”

 

Sooner than the last interval, the blackness ended and he immediately recognised the Great Hall set out before him. Only this time it could have brought him to tears in both happiness and longing. Everything, though dulled, seemed to have been soaked in a shimmering golden light from the floating candles, underneath the familiar enchanted ceiling. There were banners everywhere and decorative table settings to match. And at each table setting was a student, chatting and laughing and bathing in what surely must be a bliss of which he could never partake. Not in that magnitude at least.

 

But then he heard a woman’s voice call a name that he certainly didn’t expect to hear.

 

“Black, Sirius!” Mass murderer, Sirius Black? Wrongly accused of muggle homicide and the death of Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black? Killed by actual mass-murderer Bellatrix Lestrange in 1995, Sirius Black. But most importantly, a friend of the Potters, Sirius Black. This man was a key player in the patterns of Dark Lords. That both answered and made many questions in his mind. But he was left little time to ponder them as more changes to his environment soon occurred.

 

“ _Gryffindor!_ ” Predictably.

 

“Evans, Lily!”

 

“ _Gryffindor!_ ”

 

A surge of cheers met the proclamation of the female voice.

 

Yet, as if to compensate for this upsurge of joy- or to spite it –the scenery lost colour significantly and became far less welcoming. Various names were then called that stood out in their definition but held no meaning in his mind, all except for two.

 

“Pettigrew, Peter!” It's expected that he would be at school at the same time, surely though, he wouldn’t have been in Gryffindor though? He may have had the gal to betray the Potters and be the right hand of Voldemort, but he was even more cunning and even greater so, cowardly. Yet he must have been in Gryffindor to have made friends with Black and Potter and to have had any shred of respect from them. As much as he respected the two individuals, from what he read, Gryffindors could be just a bigoted towards other houses as Purebloods to other blood-statuses.

 

“ _Gryffindor!_ ”

 

Then lastly came, “Potter, James!” The father of The-Boy-Who-Lived.

 

“ _Gryffindor_!” There really was no other option…

 

And once again all went to black. He suspected though the memory must surely be reaching its end as sounds came without a hint of visual.

 

“…supposed to be friends?”

 

“It was nothing…”

 

“It was Dark Magic!”

 

“…stuff Potter and his mates get up…”

 

“…weird about that Lupin…”

 

“He’s ill…”

 

“…really ungrateful…by the Whomping Willow and James Potter saved you…”

 

“Saved? Saved?...I-I won't let you-“

 

“ _Let me?”_

There was a long silence. Even without sight though, he knew this was a new memory. Though it didn’t stay long.

 

“ ** _Mudblood!_** ”

 

Perhaps this was memories of the slow deterioration of their friendship? He’d imagine the last person to view these would be Snape. Perhaps the bloody handprint was just blood left over from a dark ritual- with a sacrificial animal. Oddly, he hoped it was the Dark Magic rather than murder. The idea just really left him sick that such a twisted person could have walked the halls of a place so wonderful.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Save your breath.”

 

“…I never meant…”

 

“Slipped out?...made excuses…your precious little Death Eater friends…can’t wait to join You-Know-Who…!” A professor and Headmaster of Hogwarts was a previous and/or aspiring Death Eater!? What was that Albus Dumbledore man thinking?

 

Soon sounds drifted and he heard the faint flapping of fabric, whipping in the wind. Then a blinding flash of white light appeared and left in less time than he could process; like lightning. Then he saw a starry night, atop a grassy hill as two wizards conversed: a much older Severus Snape and an old-as-ever Albus Dumbledore.

 

“Don’t kill me!” Snape plea echoed desperately, bouncing off the invisible walls.

 

“That was not my intention.” Came the stoic reply.

 

“No-no message…”Snape seemed out of sorts. Despite the recent and emotional memories, Severus Snape struck him as a man who didn’t let much show from beneath his mask of stone.

 

“I-I come with a warning- no, a request- please-.”

 

Suddenly the wind was seemingly silenced and the sounds of flappy cloaks disappeared. Peering more intently at the already dark image before him, he realised that their cloaks indeed had stopped moving.

 

“What request would a Death Eater make of me?” That confirms two questions then, Snape did become a Death Eater and Dumbledore did know about it. Yet he _still hired him?_ Maybe he had Snape under some kind of blackmail or fealty vow?

 

“The-the prophecy…the prediction…Trelawney…”

 

“…he thinks it means Lily!”

 

“…It spoke of a boy born at the end of July-,” That reminded him. When was his own birthday? _Another_ thing Tom would know. Really, he had known him a year and he had learnt essentially nothing!

 

“You disgust me.” Sneered Dumbledore. Realising he had drifted off, he redirected his attention back to the conversation before him. After all, this man’s memories could tell him a lot. Severus Snape too seemed to be an integral player in the events of the Potters; he was working for Voldemort, knowing of the prophecy, closely linked to Lily Potter, in cahoots with Dumbledore-

 

_Focus!_

“You do not care then? About the deaths of her husband and child?”

 

The pause was telling. No wonder it didn’t work between Evans and Snape.

 

“Hide them all…”

 

“In-in return?” Snape gasped, surprised. There was another pause, grimmer than the last, but this one was condemning.

 

_“Anything.”_

The scene faded to black and was coming back into focus on a new scene, almost without pause. This scene held one of foreboding for him the second he took it in. It was the Headmasters office. The very same room his body stood in but reformed in its glory, filled with puffing and whirring knick-knacks that shimmered in the moonlight, streaming through ceiling high windows. Seated at the headmaster’s desk were the same two men, one hunched over in grief and the other leaned back, fingers steepled and eyes condescending yet reluctantly pitying.

 

The sound came slowly this time, muted though, as though one were listening from under water. He couldn’t be sure now whether this was the memory decaying or if this was from Snape’s immense grief. He couldn’t help the pang in his heart that he felt of the man.

 

“Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evans’ eyes, I am sure?”

 

“ ** _Don’t!_** ” he agonized, “Gone…Dead…”

 

“Is this remorse, Severus?” came the contrastingly unaffected inquiry.

 

“I wish…I wish _I_ were dead.” He bemoaned.

 

“…if you truly loved her, your way forward is clear.”

 

“Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.”

 

“The Dark Lord will return…”

 

“…but never…never tell, Dumbledore!”

 

“If you insist…”

 

And once again it was black.

 

So Dumbledore knew that Voldemort would be back. The rest of the wizarding world should have been nearly as unprepared then…Unless he didn’t tell, or they didn’t believe him?

 

In the transition, there was a smear of words, like mud on cloth.

 

“-mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent-,”

 

“You see what you expect to see, Severus.” Came the insincere consolation of Dumbledore, “Keep an eye on Quirrell won’t you?”

 

A long pause ensued. Perhaps we were finally at the end? It certainly gave him much to process. Not only did he have-

 

“Why-why did you put on that ring…?” Snape’s exasperated drawl halted his crowded thoughts and made him squint at the very dark image of Snape tending to Dumbledore’s dying, blackened hand.

 

Looking down to where Snape’s eyes were directed, on the desk between them lied the Sword of Godric Gryffindor and a cracked ring embedded with a similarly cracked black stone.

 

“I was a fool…sorely tempted.”

 

“…to contain is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being-.”

 

“…How long do you think I have?” The tone was far too whimsical for one discussing their death. But then again, he did find quite a few articles about Dumbledore’s declining mental state…At that age though, one would probably have accepted death as a certainty any day. Was this the cause of Dumbledore’s sudden death in 1996?

 

“I cannot tell. Maybe a year...it will spread…”

 

“…makes matters more straightforward…”The man said it as though his imminent death a burden off his back.

 

“…Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me.” Or perhaps _that might_ have been the cause for his very _sudden_ death. Just _maybe_.

 

The longest of pauses ensued, only singular words slipped through the backtrack of murmurs and whispers.

 

“…Malfoy…”

 

“…fail…”

 

“…murder…”

 

“…protect…”

 

“…spy…”

 

“Certainly not. _You_ must kill me.”

 

“Thank you, Severus…”

 

_Oh my…_

 

The fade barely registered in his mind before the office had returned in full detail, far more corporeal and encompassing as he found he could now move around the room. It seemed that this memory was the most important of all in Snape’s mind…

 

Seated at the Headmaster’s desk once again were the two wizards.

 

“Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?” Dumbledore said, seemingly explaining something of high vitality to Severus.

 

“But what must he do?”

 

“That is between Harry and me. Now, listen closely, Severus. There will come a time- after my death –don not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake.”

 

Why is that particularly important? Was there some kind of weapon Harry Potter was being instructed to use that could kill Voldemort’s snake specifically? That seemed like a stupid war tactic, are they hoping Voldemort will die of heartbreak after they kill his beloved snake?

 

“For Nagini?” Snape seemed astonished that anything could pose a threat to that beast- other than the Dark Lord himself.

 

“Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him, under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe for you to tell Harry.”

 

“Tell him what?” hissed Snape with concern and exasperation growing in equal parts.

 

“Tell him, on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself on to the only living soul left in that collapsing building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while the fragment of soul, unmissed by Lord Voldemort, remains attached to, and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.”

 

The Chosen One was a _Horcrux_. He had read of them. From the few books stashed away, behind Dumbledore’s old portrait, _Horcruxes_ were described as the darkest magic possible. A vile means of murder and sacrifice to rip one’s own soul apart and store it away for the sake of immortality. The one who was to save everyone was the very thing keeping Voldemort alive and a near immortal. This was a revelation that needed to be filed away with a ferocity that would rival the Nagini on a bad day.   

 

“So the boy…the boy must die?” confirmed Snape so very calmly.

 

“And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That part is essential.” Dumbledore reiterated seriously, nodding his head in affirmation.

 

“I thought…all these years…that we were protecting him for her. For _Lily_.” The revelation brought him up short as well. Tearing his gaze from Snape’s betrayed expression, he looked at Dumbledore’s largely unaffected mask of duty. But at Snape’s words, he seemed to deflate in resignation, whether from the inevitable to come or the fact that he would have to explain in more detail was unclear. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his high-backed chair.

 

“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength,” he reasoned, eyes remaining closed, “Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth: sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will, truly, mean the end of Voldemort.”

 

When Dumbledore opened his eyes Snape’s expression had morphed into one of horror.

 

“You have kept him alive so he can die at the right moment?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

 

“Don’t be shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?”

 

“Lately, only those who I cannot save,” he replied, his body rising with his indignation, “You have used me.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“I have spied for you, and lied for you, put myself in mortal peril for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter-.”

 

“But this is touching, Severus.” He interrupted seriously, “Have you grown to care to for the boy after all?”

 

“For _him?_ ” shouted Snape, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

 

Released from Snape’s wand, as called, was a silvery doe, leaping on the air, doing a lap of the room before prancing out of the window and into the cold, black night outside. Harry didn’t exactly understand the point Snape was making immediately but knew by Dumbledore’s expression that it was profound.

 

“After all this time?” asked Dumbledore, looking to Snape who had turned his tear-filled eyes back from the gradually dispersing silver glow outside.

 

“ ** _Always._** ”

 

After that, it returned to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment, gimme criticism, feedback, questions, requests, suggests, I LIVE FOR IT! They're the best gratification you can give.
> 
> pssssst...the kudos button is also really great, too.


	18. Answers in the Form of Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finishes watching the memories with answers to questions he hasn't had yet. Tom catches him and Harry recognises that he is well within Tom's clutches, figuratively and literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry that this chapter is late. I know where I want this story to go but the story hasn't progressed enough to get there yet so I'm kinda trying to pave a path here but its proving difficult. I kinda feel like I'm running low on creativity and that my chapters are getting worse in quality. I don't know, I think I need to make some chapter outlines so that I can figure out exactly what to write each chapter. Anywho, thanks and enjoy the chapter!

After the memories in Dumbledore’s office, the memories picked up the speed and quality from before. They no longer interested him though; his brain had reached maximum capacity, and that was saying something considering the number of books he can consume in one sitting.

 

He just needs to sit back and summarize what he had seen/heard. The memories were even worse now so they cant have held much important content anyway.

 

First, the main people seemed to have been Severus Snape, Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore. Background individuals being the Dark Lord, Harry Potter and his schoolmates.

 

Second, Snape and Lily Evans were friends, they fought for Snape being involved with Dark magic. The later husband of Lily Evans, James Potter and his friends seemed to have been enemies of Snape. Snape then presumably went on to work for the Dark Lord and supposedly learned of a prophecy about the Potters’ son. He made a deal with Dumbledore to protect her and her family by extension, the plan fell through yet he held up his service to Dumbledore and protected Harry Potter.

 

That, though, was as straightforward as it seemed to get…It was clear that Snape seemed to dislike Harry Potter, but then they began to talk of the Dark Lord returning, then there was the talk of something called a Horcrux? Then Dumbledore got cursed by a ring yet planned to have himself offed anyway? Then there was that end part about Voldemort sharing a mind or soul or something with Harry Potter and how they needed Voldemort to kill Harry Potter so Voldemort would die?

 

This was so confusing…

 

Maybe he needed to do more research in the newspapers…or find out what these ‘Horcruxes’ were…?

 

Before he knew it, the deafening silence was back, only emphasising the complete blackness pressing on his eyes. Now he _really_ needed to leave. He didn’t know when Tom would be back or how long it would take Tom to find him. Who knew, maybe Tom was already here. Maybe he was already looking for him! Something told him that Tom wouldn’t like it if he went looking for more information rather than asking Tom, as though he didn’t trust Tom as a source. Which isn’t completely false, but he didn’t think he was lying or anything! He just wanted a primary source rather than screened information. Nevertheless, it was time to leave.

 

All of a sudden, he began to feel the motion of moving upwards rapidly, like falling into the sky. Just as suddenly as the motion started, it ended and was replaced with the feeling of his hair being gripped harshly and his head being yanked up. He took deep breaths as though he had just resurfaced from being underwater. Though his breath was soon stolen by the man holding his hair up in a death grip. As though summoned by his earlier anxieties, Tom leaned over him, pinning his body against the cabinet with his head leaned over his shoulder.

 

The expression on Tom’s face scared him, it was both blank and hard as stone but also conveyed a storm of anger, especially in the swirling depths of his eyes; like a riptide ready to murderously pull him under and apart.

 

Gasping in a breath he uttered all he could manage, “T-t-tom!”

 

“Tell me. What was so **important** that you found in _there,_ that you couldn’t have asked of _me?_ ” With each word his fingers seemed to tighten on the taught strands of his hair, bringing tears to the corners of his eyes.

 

“I-I’m sorry! It was nothing! I wasn’t looking for anything! I just found it and- and I was curious and then I saw-!” he stumbled out his lie, he suspected that someone as skilled as Tom was probably acquainted with the mind arts, so he kept his eyes squeezed as though afraid and holding back tears. He didn’t need to fake it too much; as wonderful as his Tom was, he was quite terrifying.

 

“You just _happened_ to stumble upon a Pensieve in the Headmaster’s office? And you saw something you say…What _exactly_ did you see? It must have been interesting; Merlin knows how long I’ve waited for you to come out of that thing…”

 

“It was nothing, it was just some memories of this man called Snape, his fight with this girl and her sister…”

 

“So if I go look for myself, that will be _all_ I see? Or is there some more that you aren’t telling me?” Tom whispered it dangerously into his ear, breath tickling his ear like fingers promising to give him pain if he dares answer wrong.

 

“W-well,” realising his mistake he backtracked, if he lied to Tom further, then he would be in even more trouble, either way, Tom was going to discover what was in the Pensieve, whether it was from him or the memories itself, “Th-there was also a b-bit ab-bout D-Dumbledore and a cursed ring. There was also this deal a-and this prophecy and something about Horcruxes and-“

 

Somewhere in his trembling spiel of words, Tom became still as a stone statue. Expecting the worst, the boy in his clutches tensed in response and cut himself off from possible worsening his fault.

 

Yet, to his surprise, Tom released him from his restraining and painful grasp and flipped him around, moving to then pin his shoulder against the cabinet. Feeling the laser-like focus on his face he reluctantly opened his eyes slightly and stared up at his captor from beneath his lashes.

 

“Don’t take what I am about to say _lightly_ ,” he enunciated slowly and deliberately, lacing each syllable with a threat to match the increasing pressure on his shoulder, “You are going to leave this room in a minute and once you do, you will not re-enter it _ever again._ And if I ever find that you have disobeyed this order, I assure you that I, myself, won’t do you the pleasure of entering this castle again.”

 

Tom may as well have released him then, for he suddenly could feel, see, breath, think; anything. The mere thought of Tom leaving for good, let alone for the reason of being driven out by his disobedience was a shattering thought to his psyche. If Tom left, he would have no one, he would go back to his life of him and the empty grounds. It would return to empty halls, empty rooms, empty grounds, an empty heart…

 

He couldn’t.

 

He couldn’t live through that again.

 

He couldn’t do it.

 

He needed Tom. Tom was different, he was alive, he was his attachment, he was _there_. Tom filled the **_hole._**

 

Still unaware of his surrounding in the midst of his crushing and ever-increasing panic, he didn’t realise he had begun to mutter in frantic whispers, “I can’t, I can’t _, can’t,_ I **_can’t._** ”

 

At the last reiteration, he finally broke into sobs, hands desperately clasping at the vest of Tom’s attire, pulling him further down to him.

 

Next though, came not the words of comfort of placation that would normally follow his tears, but the monosyllabic dismissal of- “ ** _Leave._** ”

 

In the year that he had known Tom, he had never been more certain that Tom would end up killing him, whether it was upon finding him in the castle on that first day, disobeying his orders now or through his addiction to this man’s continued existence beside his own.

 

But today, as he ran from the room, from Tom, he knew that this man had him completely under his power now; Tom left the part of him powerless that screamed for him to keep running further.

 

He would never be able to run far enough away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said at the beginning, running low on ideas for progression here, I think I might go back at some stage and edit chapters. I might even add in some filler chapters either before or during the timelapse to detail Tom and Harry growing closer more. Great opportunity for fluff there. But anywho, ideas are welcome for either fillers or future chapters. 
> 
> As always, leave a comment and press that kudos button! Every press of that button and every comment boosts my morale to write!


	19. Just Two Girls On A Swing and a Boy Behind a Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom performs some damage control and some hints are dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, I just realised that I haven't been putting disclaimers in my chapters. Do I need to do that? Is it legally implied since its listed as a fan work on this site? I don't know, but I've seen people do it so I might as well be on the safe side.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognisable in this work within the Harry Potter productions- only the plot seen here!

 

He had made a severe underestimation in relation to the boy’s thirst for knowledge. He knew that he had an advantage over the boy, with the boy feeling he knew him longer; leaving Tom largely unattached in contrast. But he had banked too much on this loyalty and disregarded the boy’s insatiable thirst for knowledge, especially concerning the real world.

 

Had he known such resources like Pensieves were still accessible- let alone functional –and still remained in the school, he would have enacted precautionary measures to ensure the boy didn’t gain insight into anything…controversial. Now though, it seems he has viewed an uncertain selection of memories from the life of the most controversial man of the Second Wizarding War: Severus Snape.

 

Considering the man was a double agent for both Dumbledore and himself gave the memories a dangerous level of confidential information. But the man was ultimately a traitor to the dark as well, giving the memories extreme risk of containing light-based views.

 

Half the reason he wanted to be the boy’s main source of information was for the purpose of limiting the amount of Light propaganda he was fed. It was detrimental that the media the boy had compiled was largely of the time after Grindewald’s and his own downfall. The phrase _‘The victors write history’_ was evident in those texts. He needed to find out what was in those memories and how greatly the boy's impartiality was affected. Ideally, the boy would have been impartial from the beginning- ready to be corrupted and mislead- but the Light, _surprisingly,_ **didn’t** paint him as the wizarding equivalent of Santa Claus.

 

Yet he didn’t know how long the memories would take to view, he only arrived when the boy was already immersed in the Pensieves depths; for all he knew, the kid might have been in there for an hour or more. He couldn’t leave the boy in such a distraught state to pose conjecture for such a time; it could have an even worse effect than seeing the memories in the first place.

 

Decision made, Tom straightened from where he had been pondering into the troublesome depths on the stone basin; he needed to do damage control before anything else.

 

Feeling out for the beacon of largely untouched magical reserves, he located the boy moving quickly out onto the grounds.

 

~

 

As different as the boy was now from his former self, he was still predictable. In the boy’s fifth year when he implanted the vision of Sirius Black into the boy’s mind. He did this knowing the boy would come running in a naively righteous rescue attempt. Now, if he were to do the same to the boy- given the circumstance it was someone the boy know _now_ –he wouldn’t be sure the boy would do the same. But the boy was more predictable in other ways; less explainable was, less to do with emotion and logic, but seeming instinct and nature.

 

Like a cat knows the mouse will run into its hole once it pounces, he knew the boy would retreat to one of two places when he was distressed. Admittedly, he used his magic to determine which of these two places the boy was headed towards, but the need for efficiency at this moment smothered the pride he held in his intuitive skills. So, towards the stream he went, he needn’t have looked along the stream long either as the boy was a seeming creature of habit and consistently visited the same pillar of the over-arching bridge to Hogwarts.

 

He made a _pitiable_ sight.

 

Sitting in the debris-strewn waters, swirling with dirt and mud, the boy _cried_. From here, on the bank a few yards off, he could hear the choked sobs, breaching the boy’s lips in sync with his shivering form. It seems his threat sunk in at least, unsurprisingly it shook the boy as much as any other man; he’d brought men to the brink of sanity with mere words.

 

Consciously making his footfalls louder so as not to spook the boy, he approached the water. The boy didn’t seem to hear him or didn’t want to acknowledge him at least. _Well, he couldn’t help the purposefully ignorant._ He hesitated a second- mentally cursing the boy for the inevitable damaging of his boots, he continued into the sludge and proceeded to crouch before him; he needed to appear as unintimidating as possible for this. Letting out a sigh, as he realised his cloak too would need cleaning, he refrained from running his fingers through his hair in frustration as the boy and _his own_ actions.

 

_Where was his head at today?!_

Dismissing the trivial inconvenience, he looked closely at the boy, waiting to see if he would broach the topic first. The boy had ceased his sobbing for the most part- _not complaining_ –and has since been reduced to stifled sniffling and tensed form.

 

With-holding a sigh of exasperation, he ducked his head to try and catch a glimpse of the child’s face. Softening his expression along with his tone he ‘tentatively attempted’ an icebreaker, “You know, I think we need to give you a name at some point,” he let a ‘fond’ smile enter his voice and expression, “Usually that’s a key milestone in friendship, knowing the other person’s name.”

 

The boy didn’t deign his response with a reply yet raised his face imperceptibly, as though unnoticed. His expression though was slightly bitter.

 

“Do you have any ideas? Anything you’ve read perhaps?” Tom prompted, waiting for the outburst to open up the real issue needing addressing.

 

“Th-there is o- _one_ name I would like…” he uttered quietly.

 

_Was that a hint of resent…? Surely one threat, one act of aggression can’t have affected his views of Tom so adversely?_

“And what would that be?” hiding his alarm with an ignorantly hopeful tone.

 

“What do you think!?” he gritted out sarcastically with a level of malice of which he had never heard or seen from the boy, **“MY REAL NAME!** The one I had before you put me here. The one you s-still ha-haven’t _t-t-told_ me!”

 

From there the tears sprung anew, along with the boy as he sprung back from him, flattening himself against the crumbling stone pillar in apparent fear.

 

“N-n-no I-I’m s-sorry I yelled, I’m so-sorry I looked in the Pensieve too! I know you don’t want me looking, but it’s just so _hard,_ Tom! I don’t know why you don’t want me knowing things! Even my own name! I want to know so badly, and you’re not always here and-and…and…I don’t want you to go!”

 

Tom watched morbid fascination as the boy spilled out his soul to him as a conflicted and vulnerable mess. The image pleased him in its prospects.

 

“I-I promise I won’t go looking again just-just please don’t leave. I know it must be annoying, it probably isn’t very long when you leave but it _hurts_ when you go…it’s so lonely.”

 

Seeing the pinnacle of the boy’s defencelessness had been reached, Tom raised himself from the water and threaded his fingers into the inky strands of hair before him. Harry’s body tensed at the similar grip to the one in the Headmaster’s office but soon released it when the fingers remained lax.

 

Tilting the boy’s head up, Tom made sure he held the boy’s swollen and teary gaze to his.

 

“I wouldn’t leave you, don’t worry about that happening,” He lied softly, “It was an empty threat…I was just panicked…and scared. The Headmaster- _Headmasters-_ of Hogwarts were all of similar views and were very involved in the war. I didn’t want your first impressions of the war to be from them, I want you to have the freedom to formulate your own standpoint on things.”

 

The boy seemed to calm at his words but he seemed to find something in his spiel of webs unsatisfactory- based on the confused scrunching of his eyebrows. The Ravenclaw observance struck a chord of fondness begrudgingly.

 

“But…don't I need to see all perspectives to get the full picture? You aren’t giving me much to formulate ideas on…”

 

“It's not so much the information you receive, but the way its presented to you that I’m most concerned about. The headmasters of Hogwarts weren’t quite so willing to allow students to form their own ideas, the curriculum made the impressions children had on certain matters assimilate to their own…by force, propaganda and omission.”

 

“But that will happen no matter what source I get it from won’t it? As long as I just look at the facts-.”

 

“But **bias** is the very thing that makes the truth hard to _discern._ There are many forms a truth can take depending on the individual's motives, ulterior or otherwise…” Tom moved his other hand to Harry’s shoulder as he said this. As though it was crucial for the boy to understand. Yet inside, Tom was cackling at the irony of his own statement.

 

Much as Tom intended it to and knew it would, his retort left the boy in a stumped silence of consideration. When the pout disappeared and the indent in his brow smoothed over, Tom knew the boy had conceded to his point.

 

“Okay, I see what you mean…When I was in the memory…there was a muggle-born, Lily Evans, she had no aversion to Dark Magic or Slytherin House or anything, she wasn’t _for it_ , but once she was in Gryffindor for a bit she seemed to think Dark Magic was some sort of evil. But then again, I don’t know I anything happened to make her think that. But the newspapers seem to villainise it, so it might have been that…?”

 

How _much_ of Lily Potter did he _see_? She was almost at the epicentre of the Light and the war. That couldn’t be allowed to continue. Did he end up seeing himself in the memory? How much will the boy be able to piece together from this?

 

“It might have helped if I could have seen most of the memories. I think the memories deteriorated though, only some were visible, but it was just snippets of voices for most of them.” The boy slumped out of his hold at this, sliding down the brick into a defeated slump.

 

“What _did_ you see?” Tom enquired with cautious curiosity thinly veiling the threat lacing his tone.                                                                        

 

“Well, at first, it didn’t seem to be anything important just two girls on a swing and a boy behind a tree…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTICE: Due to suggestion, I'm splitting this story into two (possibly three) variations! The two definite ones are the same up until this chapter possibly for another few chapters but one will have romance as the main feature and the other won't, it will be more of a Stockholm situation. This work will remain as the romance one since it has all the tags and readers focused on that, whilst I'll create a duplicate to be the alternate route. I'll post in the blurb of that one at what chapter it deviates from the main path so that you don't have to sift through the story again if you want to read both. The third variation I would like to do I actually had as my original idea for the story but this adaption was a lot easier to write. It will be an original work! Of course, there won't be wizards and witches and Horcruxes, it will be post-apocalyptic though. It might not come out for a while as it needs a lot more fine-tuning. Anyway, if you want to switch from this one to the non-romance or you want to read both variations, I'll post when it comes out!


	20. Spring Cleaning a Swamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was just really fun to write with a tad bit of plot thrown in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just remembered a little over an hour ago that I still needed to update! One heart attack later and here we are. Honestly, school, I tell yah, it keeps you busy...

He _should_ be terrified. A part of him still was; but not enough to leave again.

 

When Tom came down that slope, cloak billowing and eyes intent on him, he couldn’t help but feel that he had deserved what he was going to get. It was a sick, twisted thought that was attempting to convince the rest of him that if Tom hurt him or left him now, or even both, that it would be a well-deserved punishment.

 

He saw the man’s feet trudge slowly and carefully toward him, slightly more reluctant once they were submerged in the muck. He ducked his head further down when he saw the taller man crouch down before him; he attempted to hide from the inevitable.

 

What followed was terrifying in its own way, what started with a conversation about his name turned to him releasing an outburst of rage, fear and sadness right into tom’s face, before breaking into tears. But before he could lose it further the conversation became academic and ponderous. The emotional leaps and bounds he made to follow that conversation exhausted him almost as if he had physically done the equivalent.

 

Yet here they were, both leaning against the crumbling pillar, squished together so they both could fit, whilst he finished explaining what he had seen in the Pensieve. The calm ebb and flow of the water to match their exchange was a stark contrast to the barrage of emotions before-hand. It was scary how quickly Tom could snap the conversation back into something neutral and calming.

 

Although, he couldn’t help but appreciate it at this moment as he didn’t think he could endure much more excitement that day; to finish his recount to Tom was already a sizeable request.

 

“…The next memory was the clearest, at least to my eyes, I might as well have not understood English for all the meaning I was able to take from the conversation.”

 

“As in the sound was deteriorated that time or you merely needed context?” Tom clarified.

 

“No, no, it was more, I didn’t understand a lot of the terms they were using. It must have been really advanced magic if I haven’t come across it in the Hogwarts Library…Though context would have helped in many areas.”

 

“What, exactly, _were_ they saying?” Tom prompted, his eager yet guarded eyes focussed on ever twitch and tell of his facial movements; watching for any signs of lies or hesitation, no doubt.

 

“I can’t remember all of it, and I admit that my attention may have…drifted a little in some places…” the boy admitted with an embarrassed flush, “but the main parts seemed to be about Harry Potter, he shared a soul and mind or something with Voldemort? They were saying he needed to die and that they would need to tell Harry Potter that, I think. Then Snape made this silvery doe and that meant something apparently…I dunno really…”

 

He finished his story with a shrug and a nonplussed look up at Tom’s deeply thinking expression.

 

“Are you going to explain what any of that meant or…?”

 

“I will explain some, soon. Not all of it though, some things you aren’t prepared to know yet, you don’t know enough to know what to do what that information.”

 

“Right,” affirmed the pouting child, slumping further in a disappointed heap, “Fine.”

 

With an amused smirk and a sideways glance at his companion, Tom inconspicuously moved his hand from where it supported him and raised it just over the oblivious boy’s head.

 

Striking with a snake-like speed he shoved the boy off his perch and shoved him into the muddy water until his head was all the way under.

 

Caught by surprise by this sudden act of mischief, he had slid into the water with a squawk and resurfaced with a feigned betrayed and enraged expression, ruined by the mirthful smile just withholding laughter.

 

What he saw when he looked back at the pillar was Tom, as luxuriously reclined as he could be on such a small ledge, leisurely causing a small amount of water nearby to form a whirlpool at his finger-tips; supposedly ignorant to any misdoings on his behalf.

 

“Amusing is it?”

 

“Not particularly, but I can’t find myself in much of a state to be willing to do much of anything at the moment; I’m awfully comfortable you see, on this oh so spacious ledge.” Answered Tom with a smile worthy of a Witch Weekly Award.

 

“Oh yes, cleared some room recently have you? Done some spring cleaning?” he bantered back, paddling in a similarly care-free façade.

 

“Ah yes, it was quite cluttered before; had a great lot of rubbish sitting on the end right there.” Smirked Tom gesturing with a nod of the head to the spot the boy had been pushed from; where Tom’s feet now lie.

 

“Tell me, are you very attached to this outfit, Tom?” he enquired with a tilt of the head and a devilish smirk that would make Bellatrix proud, “Is it particularly expensive?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, Comment, Critique, Criticise or request, do what you do; I love it all!


	21. Chapter 21: The Devil Is In The Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is promised what he wants and Tom has an alarming amount of concerning concerns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shuffles awkwardly into room*
> 
> hi...I'm back again...been a while...sorry?

Thoroughly covered head to toe in sludge, Tom had dragged him over to the dryer part of the bank in order for them both to have a chance to catch their breath; they had repeatedly attempted to drown each other after all.

 

Picking the muck out of his pockets vainly, Tom asked him, “As _lovely_ as this quaint, little _swamp_ is, I still can’t figure out why you frequent it so often.”

 

It didn't seem as if Tom was expecting an answer to his statement and the boy spread eagle next to him wasn't eager to supply one. Some small part of him didn't think it wise to share this detail that he had left to hide. Perhaps it was for selfish reasons; shouldn't he be allowed one thing private from Tom if all else had to be shared? He couldn't see any other reason he should hide something; it wasn't a matter of trust, if anything, he often times trusted Tom too much. Considering recent events; that concern was made all the more valid. He hoped this trust wouldn't mislead him any further, being stuck as he was, he had little places to run to and even less to protect himself with. The only thing that might serve some resistance, if push came to shove, would be the magic of Hogwarts. It might be able to hide him or barricade Tom out if need be. Thinking of such a situation arising caused his body to stiffen as one would under  _pertificus totalus_.

 

So he let the question hang in the air, to be blown about and away by the breeze that relieved them of the slight heat of the day. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure why he came here so often either. The place didn't hold much significance for himself personally. No miraculous events in  _his_ memory had ever occurred here, neither in the other two places he randomly frequented so similarly. He just felt inexplicably drawn. It was as though this place was something more, it was almost like an exit, just an end to this place but that didn't make sense and it was hard to articulate. It was like this place connected to somewhere beyond, the exit was here, he just didn't know how to break through. See? Hard to imagine, but that was the feeling. He came here, drawn by longing, often times to leave and be free, others just to speak to someone who was surely beyond the exit.

 

He came here far less following Tom's arrival, but the stories of his world both lessened and strengthened the longing.  

 

Deciding to act on a whim- a dangerous decision considering the previous conflict, he asked Tom the searing question in his mind.

 

"Tom, when, if ever...could take me with you?" he kept his face to the sky, feigning casualness but most definitely ruining it with his intense focus of the sky and his tensed form.

 

There was a thoughtful pause, or at least, that's what he hoped it was; he wasn't ready for anymore yelling. But then Tom sighed, releasing what seemed to have been all the air in his lungs before he rolled onto his side and stared intensely at the boy next to him, his expression grim.

 

"You very much want to leave, don't you?" he questioned reluctantly, "You won't simply be satisfied with this?"

 

He held Tom's piercing gaze and shook his head. Seemingly seeing what he was looking for in his green eyes, something he expected to be there, Tom rolled back onto his back, looking at the clouds one last time before moving to stand.

 

"Such an insatiability should be expected, all things considered. It's how I would feel and that's really the biggest factor in the equation when it comes to you, isn't it, Little One?" Tom sighed, appearing to be musing to himself more than to him. 

 

Not completely understanding what Tom meant, he assumed the older man was alluding to Tom's effect on himself, being the only person he interacted with, but he wasn't certain that was quite it. Brushing it off along with the rest of the grass and mud as he stood before Tom, he hopefully supplied, "So you'll take me?"

 

"Soon," was Tom's decisive reply, "Quite soon..."

 

* * *

 

{ ** _You seeing this? I just discovered proper page breaks. While ~ is for jumps in time they aren't always correct. I'm getting tech-savvy, Guys. Be proud._** }

 

* * *

 

 

Stretching his back out, sore from their rough-housing and lying on the hard ground, Tom looked around the area one more time, looking for the answer that the boy was unwilling to give him.

 

Upon closer scrutinisation, he noticed small yet most intriguing details about the terrain. The tiny detail was, in fact, the details themselves; everything appeared so much clearer, so much more defined. One wouldn't notice unless they looked, but compared to real life itself, within his own world for that matter, or the rest of this artificial one, every detail in this swamp appeared to be on what the muggles would call ' _High Definition_ ', it was hyper-realistic. The trees in the distance seemed to be a starker black and green against the bright blue sky; the pine needles themselves far too visible from such a distance, the grass; green as his Horcrux's eyes and just as complexly detailed in all its shades and shimmering in the breeze. The **_wind_**! So much more refreshing and tangible, every buffet felt by every hair on his body and each shred of unclothed skin.

 

As they trekked back to the castle, Tom pondered this imperfection, consciously noticing now the almost indifferentiable decline in clarity and other senses. Why was the level of existence splotchy and uneven throughout the orb? What makes that area more tangible and visible than the others?

 

Was it a sign that this world was still developing and had yet to reach its final state of realness? Or could it be a sign of severe deterioration? Was that what everything used to be but has degraded from since? Maybe the world developed with Harry? Maybe as Harry grows the world around him becomes clearer too? Was it linked to Harry's memories? Was it so much clearer because Harry himself seems to visit it so much, leaving any details hyper-present. Or maybe it was these details themselves that drew Harry to the area? But if that were the case, why not tell him so?

 

It was truly strange how such a small detail could release so many worrisome questions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm an unreliable author presenting you with not only a half-length chapter but a cliff hanger of sorts as well...I'msorrypleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasekeepreading?
> 
> Also please comment your thoughts, opinions, theories and suggestions for the plot- also kudos if you like it!
> 
> See you soon, hopefully?


End file.
